:4;y^
r.^
r
libr;.ry
UNIVE. SHY OF
CALIFORNIA
SAN D4EG0
mmmmmr^
m UNIVERSITY LIBRARY PR
-p
f
THE WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING
GEORGE SAINTSBURY
IN TWELVE VOLUMES
VOL. VI.
TOM JONES
VOL. IV.
presented to the
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
SAN DIEGO
Mrs . Kenneth Murdock
<;7CL<<,<^tai>«^a<M«>W£«^>z^-<^«'W/4<<y-wet^ ^made^ a, UmrOi-Ur.
® THE HISTORY OF TOM
JONES A FOUNDLING BY
HENRY FIELDING ESQ
VOL. IV.
EDITED BY GEORGE
SAINTSBURY WITH
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
HERBERT RAILTON
&^ E. J. WHEELER.
J.ONDON PUBLISHED BY J. M. DENT &■ CO.
AT ALDINE HOUSE IN GREAT EASTERN
STREET MDCCCXCIIl
CONTENTS OF VOL. IV.
BOOK XIN.— continued.
Chapter IV. p.
Which 2ve hope will be ve>y attentively perused by young
people of both sexes . . ■ .
Chapter V.
A short account of the history of Mrs Miller ... 6
Chapter VI.
Containing a scene which ive doubt not will affect all our
readers ......... lo
Chapter VII.
The interview betzveen Mr Jones and Mr Nightingale . 17
Chapter VIII.
What passed between Jones and old Mr Nighti?igale ; with
the arrival of a person not yet mentioned in this history 23
Chapter IX.
Containing strange matters ...... 31
Chapter X.
A short chapter, which concludes the book ... 36
IV. V h
CONTENTS.
BOOK XV.
IX WHICH THE HISTORY ADVANCES ABOUT TWO DAYS.
Chapter I. page
Too short to need a -preface ....... 38
Chapter II.
In which is opetied a very black design against Sophia . 40
Chapter III.
A further explanation of the foregoing design . . .46
Chapter IV.
By which it will appear how dangerous an advocate a lady
is whe?i she applies her eloquence to a?t- ill purpose . 51
Chapter V.
Containing some matters which may a fed, and others which
may surprize, the reader ...... 53
Chapter VI.
By what means the squire came to discover his daughter , 61
Chapter VII.
In which various misfortunes bef el poor Jones . . .67
Chapter VIII.
Short and sweet .......,, 75
Chapter IX.
Containing loz'e-letters of several sorts . . . -78
Chapter X.
Consisting partly of facts. a?zd partly of observations upoji
them .......... 86
CONTENTS. Vll
Chapter XI. page
Co7itaining curious, but not unpi-ccedented matter . . gi
Chapter XII.
A discovery -made by Partridge ...... 94
BOOK XVI.
CONTAINING THE SPACE OF FIVE DAYS.
Chapter I.
Of prologues ......... 99
Chapter II.
A whimsical adventure 7vkick hefel the squire, with the
distressed situatio)! of Sophia ..... loi
Chapter III.
What happened to Sophia during her confinement . .110
Chapter IV.
In which Sophia is delivered from her confinement . . 115
Chapter V.
In which Jones receives a letter from Sophia, and goes to a
play with Mrs Miller and Partridge .... 121
Chapter VI.
In zvhich the history is obliged to look back .... 129
Chapter VII.
In which Mr Western pays a visit to his sister, in company
with Mr Blifil ........ 133
vm CONTENTS.
Chapter VIII. page
Schemes of Lady Bellaston for the ruin of Jones . . . 136
Chapter IX.
In which Jones fays a visit to Mrs Fitzpatrick . , . 141
Chapter X.
The conseque7ice of the preceding visit 147
BOOK XVIL
CONTAINING THREE DAYS.
Chapter I.
Containing a portion of introductory writing . . . 151
Chapter II.
The generous and grateful behaviour of Mrs Miller . . 153
Chapter III.
The arrival of Mr Western, with some matters concerning
the paterttal authority ....... 157
Chapter IV.
An extraordinary scene between Sophia and her aunt . . 166
Chapter V.
Mrs Miller and Mr Nightingale visit Jones in the prison . 172
Chapter VI.
In which Mrs Miller pays a visit to Sophia . . . 176
CONTENTS. IX
Chapter VII. pack.
A pathetic scene between Mr Alhvorthy and Airs Miller . i8i
Chapter VIII.
Containing various matters 184
Chapter IX.
What happened to Mr Jones in the prison .... 192
BOOK XVIII.
containing about six days.
Chapter I.
A farewell to the reader ....... igg
Chapter II.
Containi?ig a very tragical incident ..... 201
Chapter III.
Alhvorthy visits old Nightingale ; with a strange discovery
that he made o?i that occasion ..... 207
Chapter IV.
Containing two letters in very different stiles . . . 212
Chapter V.
In which the history is continued ..... 217
Chapter VI.
In which the history is f.irther continued .... 224
X CONTENTS.
Chapter VII. page
Continuation of the history ....... 229
Chapter VIII.
Further continuation ........ 235
Chapter IX.
A further continuation ....... 245
Chapter X.
WJterein the history begins to drain towards a conclusion . 254
Chapter XI.
The history draws nearer to a conclusion .... 261
Chapter XII,
Approaching still tiearer to the end ..... 269
Chapter the last.
In which tlie history is concluded ..... 277
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Vol. IV.
His Lordship advancing forwards made a
LOW BOW ..... Frontispiece
At this instant a number of fellows
rushed in and seized Jones . . Page 148
Thwackum and Souare . . , „ 2 1 2
Zbc Ibistori? of ZTom Jonee,
A FOUNDLING.
BOOK XIY.— continued.
Which nve hope 'will be very attentively perused by young
people of both sexes.
PARTRIDGE had no sooner left Mr Jones than
Mr Nightingale, with whom he had now con-
tracted a great intimacy, came to him, and, after
a short salutation, said, "So, Tom, I hear you had
company very late last night. Upon my soul you are
a happy fellow, who have not been in town above a
fortnight, and can keep chairs waiting at your door till
two in the morning." He then ran on with much
commonplace raillery of the same kind, till Jones at
last interrupted him, saying, " I suppose you have re-
ceived all this information from Mrs Miller, who hath
been up here a little while ago to give me warning.
The good woman is afraid, it seems, of the reputation
of her daughters." " Oh ! she is wonderfully nice,"
says Nightingale, *' upon that account ; if you re-
member, she would not let Nancy go with us to the
IV. A
2 THE HISTORY OF
masquerade." "Nay, upon my honour, I think she's
in the right of it," says Jones : " however, I have
taken her at her word, and have sent Partridge to look
for another lodging." " If you will," says Nightingale,
" we may, I believe, be again together ; for, to tell
you a secret, which I desire you won't mention in the
family, I intend to quit the house to-day." " What,
hath Mrs Miller given you warning too, my friend ? "
cries Jones. "No," answered the other; "but the
rooms are not convenient enough. Besides, I am
grown weary of this part of the town. I want to be
nearer the places of diversion ; so I am going to Pall-
mall." " And do you intend to make a secret of
youi" going away?" said Jones. "I promise you,"
answered Nightingale, " I don't intend to bilk my
lodgings ; but I have a private reason for not taking
a formal leave." " Not so private," answered Jones ;
" I promise you, I have seen it ever since the second
day of my coming to the house. Here will be some
wet eyes on your departure. Poor Nancy, I pity
her, faith ! Indeed, Jack, you have played the
fool with that girl. You have given her a longing,
which 1 am afraid nothing will ever cure her of."
Nightingale answered, " What the devil would you
have me do ? would you have me marry her to cure
her ? " " No," answered Jones, " I would not have
had you make love to her, as you have often done in
my presence. I have been astonished at the blindness
of her mother in never seeing it." " Pugh, see it ! "
cries Nightingale. " What the devil should she see ? "
" Why, see," said Jones, " that you have made her
daughter distractedly in love with you. The poor gii'l
cannot conceal it a moment ; her eyes are never off
from you, and she always colours every time you come
into the room. Indeed, I pity her heartily ; for she
seems to be one of the best-natured and honestest of
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 3
human creatui-es." "And so," answered. Nightingale,
" according to your doctrine, one must not amuse one-
self by any common gallantries with women, for fear
they should fall in love with us." " Indeed, Jack,"
said Jones, " you wilfully misunderstand me ; I do not
fancy women are so apt to fall in love ; but you have
gone far beyond common gallantries." " What, do
you suppose," says Nightingale, "that we have been
a-bed together ? " " No, upon my honour," answered
Jones, very seriously, " I do not suppose so ill of you ;
nay, I will go farther, I do not imagine you have laid a
regular premeditated scheme for the destmction of the
quiet of a poor little creature, or have even foreseen the
consequence : for I am sure thou art a very good-
natured fellow ; and such a one can never be guilty of
a cruelty of that kind ; but at the same time you have
pleased your own vanity, without considering that this
poor girl was made a sacrifice to it ; and while you have
had no design but of amusing an idle hour, you have
actually given her reason to flatter herself that you
had the most serious designs in her favour. Prithee,
Jack, answer me honestly; to what have tended all
those elegant and luscious descriptions of happiness
arising from violent and mutual fondness? all those
warm professions of tenderness, and generous disin-
terested love ? Did you imagine she would not apply
them ? or, speak ingenuously, did not you intend she
should ? " " Upon my soul, Tom," cries Nightingale,
" I did not think this was in thee. Thou wilt make
an admirable parson. So I suppose you would not go
to bed to Nancy now, if she would let you ? " " No,"
cries Jones, " may I be d — n'd if I would." " Tom,
Tom," answered Nightingale, "last night; remember
last night
When every eye was closed, and the pale moon,
And silent stars, shone conscious of the theft."
4 THE HISTORY OF
"Lookee, Mr Nightingale," said Jones, "I am no
canting hypocrite, nor do I pretend to the gift of chastity,
more than my neighbours. I have been guilty with
women, I own it ; but am not conscious that I have
ever injured any. — Nor v/ould I, to procui'e pleasure to
myself, be knowingly the cause of misery to any human
being."
" Well, well," said Nightingale, " I believe you,
and I am convinced you acquit me of any such thing."
" I do, from my heart," answered Jones, " of having
debauched the girl, but not from having gained her
affections."
" If I have," said Nightingale, " I am sorry for it ;
but time and absence will soon wear off such impressions.
It is a receipt I must take myself; for, to confess the
truth to you — I never liked any girl half so much in
my whole life ; but I must let you into the whole secret,
Tom. My father hath provided a match for me with
a woman I never saw ; and she is now coming to town,
in order for me to make my addresses to her."
At these words Jones burst into a loud fit of laughter ;
when Nightingale cried — " Nay, prithee, don't turn
me into ridicule. The devil take me if I am not half
mad about this matter ! my poor Nancy ! Oh ! Jones,
Jones, I wish I had a fortune in my own possession."
" I heartily wish you had," cries Jones ; " for, if
this be the case, I sincerely pity you both ; but surely
you don't intend to go away without taking your leave
of her ? "
"I would not," answered Nightingale, "undergo
the pain of taking leave, for ten thousand pounds ;
besides, I am convinced, instead of answering any good
purpose, it would only serve to inflame my poor Nancy
the more. I beg, tlierefore, you would not mention a
word of it to-day, and in the evening, or to-morrow
morning, I intend to depart."
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 5
Jones promised he would not ; and said, upon reflec-
tion, he thought, as he had determined and was obliged
to leave her, he took the most prudent method. He
then told Nightingale he should be very glad to lodge
in the same house with him ; and it was accordingly
agreed between them, that Nightingale should procure
him either the ground floor, or the two pair of stairs ;
for the young gentleman himself was to occupy that
which was between them.
This Nightingale, of whom we shall be presently
obliged to say a little more, was in the ordinary trans-
actions of life a man of strict honour, and, what is
more rare among young gentlemen of the town, one of
strict honesty too ; yet in affairs of love he was some-
what loose in his morals ; not that he was even here as
void of principle as gentlemen sometimes are, and oftener
affect to be ; but it is certain he had been guilty of some
indefensible treachery to women, and had, in a certain
mystery, called making love, practised many deceits,
which, if he had used in trade, he would have been
counted the greatest villain upon earth.
But as the world, I know not well for what reason,
agree to see this treachery in a better light, he was so
far from being ashamed of his iniquities of this kind,
that he gloried in them, and would often boast of his
skill in gaining of women, and his triumphs over their
hearts, for which he had before this time received some
rebukes from Jones, who always exprest great bitterness
against any misbehaviour to the fair part of the species,
who, if considered, he said, as they ought to be, in the
light of the dearest friends, were to be cultivated,
honoured, and caressed with the utmost love and tender-
ness ; but, if regarded as enemies, were a conquest of
which a man ought rather to be ashamed than to value
himself upon it.
6 THE HISTORY OF
A short account of the history of Mrs Miller,
JONES this day eat a pretty good dinner for a sick
man, that is to say, the larger half of a shoulder
of mutton. In the afternoon he received an in-
vitation from Mrs Miller to drink tea ; for that good
woman, having learnt, either by means of Partridge, or
by some other means natural or supernatural, that he
had a connexion with Mr AUworthy, could not endure
the thoughts of parting with him in an angiy manner.
Jones accepted the invitation ; and no sooner was
the tea-kettle removed, and the girls sent out of the
room, than the widow, without much preface, began as
follows : " Well, there are very surprizing things happen
in this world ; but certainly it is a wonderful business
that I should have a relation of Mr AUworthy in my
house, and never know anything of the matter. Alas !
sir, you little imagine what a friend that best of gentle-
men hath been to me and mine. Yes, sir, I am not
ashamed to own it; it is owing to his goodness that
I did not long since perish for want, and leave my
poor little wretches, two destitute, helpless, friendless
orphans, to the care, or rather to the cruelty, of the
world.
" You must know, sir, though I am now reduced to
get my living by letting lodgings, I was born and bred
a gentlewoman. My father was an officer of the army,
and died in a considerable rank : but he lived up to
his pay ; and, as that expired with him, his family, at
his death, became beggars. We were three sisters.
One of us had the good luck to die soon after of the
small-pox ; a lady vv^as so kind as to take the second
out of charity, as she said, to wait upon her. The
mother of this lady had been a servant to my grand-
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 7
mother ; and, having inherited a vast fortune from her
father, which he had got by pawnbroking, was married
to a gentleman of great estate and fashion. She used
my sister so bai-barously, often upbraiding her with her
birth and poverty, calling her in derision a gentlewoman,
that I believe she at length broke the heart of the poor
girl. In short, she likewise died within a twelvemonth
after my father. Fortune thought proper to provide
better for me, and within a month from his decease I
was married to a clergyman, who had been my lover a
long time before, and who had been very ill used by
my father on that account : for though my poor father
could not give any of us a shilling, yet he bred us up
as delicately, considered us, and would have had us
consider ourselves, as highly as if we had been the
richest heiresses. But my dear husband forgot all this
usage, and the moment we were become fatherless he
immediately renewed his addresses to me so warmly,
that I, who always liked, and now more than ever
esteemed him, soon complied. Five years did I live
in a state of perfect happiness with that best of men,
till at last — Oh ! cruel ! cruel fortune, that ever sepa-
rated us, that deprived me of the kindest of husbands
and my poor girls of the tenderest parent. — O my poor
girls ! you never knew the blessing which ye lost. — I
am ashamed, Mr Jones, of this womanish weakness ;
but I shall never mention him without tears." "I
ought rather, madam," said Jones, "to be ashamed
that I do not accompany you." "Well, sir," con-
tinued she, " I was now left a second time in a much
worse condition than before ; besides the terrible afflic-
tion I was to encounter, I had now two children to
provide for ; and was, if possible, more pennyless than
ever ; when that great, that good, that glorious man,
Mr Allworthy, who had some little acquaintance with
my husband, accidentally heard of my distress, and mi-
8 THE HISTORY OF
mediately writ this letter to mc. Here, sir, here it is ;
I put it into my pocket to shew it you. This is the
letter, sir ; I must and will read it to you.
« < Madam,
" ' I heartily condole with you on your late griev-
ous loss, which your own good sense, and the excellent
lessons you must have learnt from the worthiest of men,
will better enable you to bear than any advice which I
am capable of giving. Nor have I any doubt that you,
whom I have heard to be the tenderest of mothers, will
suffer any immoderate indulgence of grief to prevent
you from discharging jonr duty to those poor infants,
who now alone stand in need of your tenderness.
" ' However, as you must be supposed at present to
be incapable of much worldly consideration, you will
pardon my having ordered a person to wait on you,
and to pay you twenty guineas, which I beg you will
accept till I have the pleasure of seeing you, and believe
me to be, madam, &c.'
" This letter, sir, I received within a fortnight after
the irreparable loss I have mentioned ; and within a
fortnight afterwards, Mr Allworthy — the blessed Mr
Allworthy, came to pay me a visit, when he placed
me in the house where you now see me, gave me a
large sum of money to furnish it, and settled an annuity
of ,^50 a-year upon me, which I have constantly
received ever since. Judge, then, Mr Jones, in what
regard I must hold a benefactor, to whom I owe the
preservation of my life, and of those dear children, for
whose sake alone my life is valuable. Do not, there-
fore, think me impertinent, Mr Jones (since I must
esteem one for whom I know Mr Allworthy hath so
much value), if I beg you not to converse with these
wicked women. You are a young gentleman, and do
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 9
not know half thek artfiil wiles. Do not be angry
with me, sir, for what I said upon account of my
house ; you must be sensible it would be the ruin of
my poor dear girls. Besides, sir, you cannot but be
acquainted that Mr Allworthy himself would never
forgive my conniving at such matters, and particularly
with you."
" Upon my word, madam," said Jones, " you need
make no farther apology ; nor do I in the least take
anything ill you have said ; but give me leave, as no one
can have more value than myself for Mr Allworthy, to
deliver you from one mistake, which, perhaps, would not
be altogether for his honour ; I do assure you, I am no
relation of his."
" Alas ! sir," answered she, " I know you are not,
I know very well who you are ; for Mr Allworthy
hath told me all ; but I do assure you, had you been
twenty times his son, he could not have expressed
more regard for you than he hath often expressed in
my presence. You need not be ashamed, sii-, of what
you are ; I promise you no good person will esteem
you the less on that account. No, Mr Jones, the
words ' dishonourable birth ' are nonsense, as my dear,
dear husband used to say, unless the word ' dishonoui"-
able ' be applied to the parents ; for the childi^en can
derive no real dishonour from an act of which they are
intirely innocent."
Here Jones heaved a deep sigh, and then said,
" Since I perceive, madam, you really do know me,
and Mr Allworthy hath thought proper to mention my
name to you ; and since you have been so explicit with
me as to your own affairs, I will acquaint you with
some more circumstances concerning myself." And
these Mrs Miller having expressed great desire and
curiosity to hear, he began and related to her his whole
history, without once mentioning the name of Sophia.
lO THE HISTORY OF
There is a kind of sympathy in honest minds, by
means of which they give an easy credit to each other.
Mrs Miller believed all which Jones toll her to be
true, and exprest much pity and concern for him.
She was beginning to comment on the st^ry, but Jones
interrupted her ; for, as the hour of assignation now
drew nigh, he began to stipulate for a second inter-
view with the lady that evening, which he promised
should be the last at her house ; swearing, at the same
time, that she was one of great distinction, and that
nothing but what was intirely innocent was to pass
between them ; and I do firmly believe he intended to
keep his word.
Mrs Miller was at length prevailed on, and Jones
departed to his chamber, where he sat alone till twelve
o'clock, but no Lady Bellaston appeared.
As we have said that this lady had a great affection
for Jones, and as it must have appeared that she really
had so, the reader may perhaps wonder at the first
failure of her appointment, as she apprehended him to
be confined by sickness, a season when friendship
seems most to require such visits. This behaviour,
therefore, in the lady, may, by some, be condemned as
unnatural ; but that is not our fault ; for our business
is only to record truth.
Containing a scene which ive doubt not ivill affect all
our readers.
MR Jones closed not his eyes during all the former
part of the night ; not owing to any uneasiness
which he conceived at being disappointed by
Lady Bellaston ; nor was Sophia herself, though most
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. H
of his waking houi's were justly to be charged to her
account, the present cause of dispelling his slumbers.
In fact, poor Jones was one of the best-natured fellows
alive, and had all that weakness which is called com-
passion, and which distinguishes this imperfect char-
acter from that noble firmness of mind, which rolls a
man, as it were, within himself, and like a polished
bowl, enables him to run through the world without
being once stopped by the calamities which happen to
others. He could not help, therefore, compassionating
the situation of poor Nancy, whose love for Mr
Nightingale seemed to him so apparent, that he was
astonished at the blindness of her mother, who had
more than once, the preceding evening, remarked to
him the great change in the temper of her daughter,
" who from being," she said, " one of the liveliest,
merriest girls in the world, was, on a sudden, become
all gloom and melancholy."
Sleep, however, at length got the better of all
resistance ; and now, as if he had already been a deity,
as the antients imagined, and an offended one too, he
seemed to enjoy his dear-bought conquest. — To speak
simply, and without any metaphor, Mr Jones slept till
eleven the next morning, and would, perhaps, have
continued in the same quiet situation much longer, had
not a violent uproar awakened him.
Partridge was now summoned, who, being asked
what was the matter, answered, "That there was a
di-eadful hurricane below-stairs ; that Miss Nancy was
in fits ; and that the other sister, and the mother, were
both crying and lamenting over her." Jones expressed
much concern at this news ; which Partridge en-
deavoured to relieve, by saying, with a smile, "he
fancied the young lady was in no danger of death ;
for that Susan" (which was the name of the maid)
"had given him to understand, it was nothing more
THE HISTORY OF
than a common affair. In short," said he, "Miss
Nancy hath had a mind to be as wise as her mother ;
that's all ; she was a little hungry, it seems, and so sat
down to dinner before grace was said ; and so there
is a child coming for the Foundling Hospital."
" Prithee, leave thy stupid jesting," cries Jones. " Is
the misery of these poor wretches a subject of mirth ?
Go immediately to Mrs Miller, and tell her I beg
leave — Stay, you will make some blunder ; I will go
myself; for she desired me to breakfast with her."
He then rose and dressed himself as fast as he could ;
and while he was dressing, Partridge, notwithstanding
many severe rebukes, could not avoid throwing forth
certain pieces of brutality, commonly called jests, on
this occasion. Jones was no sooner dressed than he
walked downstairs, and knocking at the door, was
presently admitted by the maid, into the outward
parlour, which was as empty of company as it was
of any apparatus for eating. Mrs Miller was in the
inner room with her daughter, whence the maid
presently brought a message to Mr Jones, " That her
mistress hoped he would excuse the disappointment,
but an accident had happened, which made it im-
possible for her to have the pleasure of his company
at breakfast that day; and begged his pardon for not
sending him up notice sooner." Jones desired, " She
would give herself no trouble about anything so trifling
as his disappointment ; that he was heartily sorry for
the occasion ; and that if he could be of any service
to her, she might command him."
He had scarce spoke these words, when Mrs Miller,
who heard them all, suddenly threw open the door, and
coming out to him, in a flood of tears, said, " O Mr
Jones ! you are certainly one of the best young men
alive. I give you a thousand thanks for your kind
offer of your service ; but, alas ! sir, it is out of your
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 3
power to preserve my poor girl. — O my child ! my
child ! she is undone, she is ruined for ever ! " "I
hope, madam," said Jones, " no villain " " O Mr
Jones ! " said she, " that villain who yesterday left my
lodgings, hath betrayed my poor girl ; hath destroyed
her. — I know you are a man of honour. You have
a good — a noble heart, Mr Jones. The actions to
v/hich I have been myself a witness, could proceed
from no other. I will tell you all : nay, indeed, it
is impossible, after what hath happened, to keep it a
secret. That Nightingale, that barbarous villain, hath
undone my daughter. She is — she is — oh ! Mr Jones,
my girl is with child by him ; and in that condition
he hath deserted her. Here ! here, sir, is his cruel
letter : read it, Mr Jones, and tell me if such another
monster lives."
The letter was as follows :
" Dear Nancy,
"As I found it impossible to mention to you
what, I am afraid, will be no less shocking to you,
than it is to me, I have taken this method to inform
you, that my father insists upon my immediately paying
my addresses to a young lady oi fortune, whom he
hath provided for my — I need not write the detested
word. Your own good understanding will make you
sensible, how entirely I am obliged to an obedience,
by which I shall be for ever excluded from your dear
arms. The fondness of your mother may encourage
you to trust her with the unhappy consequence of our
love, which may be easily kept a secret from the world,
and for which I will take care to provide, as I will for
you. I wish you may feel less on this account than I
have suffered ; but summon all your fortitude to your
assistance, and forgive and forget the man, whom
nothing but the prospect of certain ruin could have
14 THE HISTORY OF
forced to write this letter. I bid you forget me, I
mean only as a lover ; but the best of friends you shall
ever find in your faithful, though unhappy,
«J. N."
When Jones had read this letter, they both stood
silent during a minute, looking at each other ; at last
he began thus : " I cannot express, madam, how much
I am shocked at what T have read; yet let me beg
you, in one particular, to take the writer's advice.
Consider the reputation of your daughter." " It is
gone, it is lost, Mr Jones," cryed she, " as well as her
innocence. She received the letter in a room full of
company, and immediately swooning away upon open-
ing it, the contents were known to every one present.
But the loss of her reputation, bad as it is, is not the
worst ; I shall lose my child ; she hath attempted twice
to destroy herself already ; and though she hath been
hitherto prevented, vows she will not outlive it ; nor
could I myself outlive any accident of that nature. —
What then will become of my little Betsy, a helpless
infant orphan ? and the poor little wretch will, I be-
lieve, break her heart at the miseries with which she
sees her sister and myself distracted, while she is
ignorant of the cause. O 'tis the most sensible, and
best-natured little thing! The barbarous, cruel
hath destroyed us all. O my poor children ! Is this
the reward of all my cares ? Is this the fruit of all
my prospects ? Have I so chearfully undergone all
the labours and duties of a mother ? Have I been
so tender of theii- infancy, so careful of their education ?
Have I been toiling so many years, denying myself
even the conveniences of life, to provide some little
sustenance for them, to lose one or both in such a
manner ? " " Indeed, madam," said Jones, with tears
in his eyes, " I pity you from my soul." — " O ! Mr
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 5
Jones," answered she, " even you, though I know the
goodness of your heart, can have no idea of what
I feel. The best, the kindest, the most dutiful of
children ! O my poor Nancy, the darling of my soul !
the delight of my eyes ! the pride of my heart ! too
much, indeed, my pride ; for to those foolish, ambitious
hopes, arising from her beauty, I owe her ruin. Alas !
I saw with pleasure the liking which this young man
had for her. I thought it an honourable affection ;
and flattered my foolish vanity with the thoughts of
seeing her married to one so much her superior. And
a thousand times in my presence, nay, often in yours,
he hath endeavoured to soothe and encourage these
hopes by the most generous expressions of disinterested
love, which he hath always directed to my poor girl,
and which I, as well as she, believed to be real.
Could I have believed that these were only snares laid
to betray the innocence of my child, and for the ruin
of us all ? " — At these words little Betsy came running
into the room, crying, " Dear mamma, for heaven's
sake come to my sister ; for she is in another fit, and
my cousin can't hold her." Mrs Miller immediately
obeyed the summons ; but first ordered Betsy to stay
with Mr Jones, and begged him to entertain her a
few minutes, saying, in the most pathetic voice,
" Good heaven ! let me preserve one of my children
at least."
Jones, in compliance with this request, did all he
could to comfort the little girl, though he was, in
reality, himself very highly affected with Mrs Miller's
story. He told her " Her sister would be soon very
well again ; that by taking on in that manner she would
not only make her sister worse, but make her mother
ill too." " Indeed, sir," says she, " I would not do
anything to hurt them for the world. I would burst
my heart rather than they should see me cry. — But
1 6 THE HISTORY OF
my poor sister can't see me cry. — I am afraid she will
never be able to see me cry any more. Indeed, I
can't part with her ; indeed, I can't. — And then poor
mamma too, what will become of her ? — She says she
will die too, and leave me : but I am resolved I won't
be left behind." " And are you not afraid to die,
my little Betsy ? " said Jones. " Yes," answered she,
" I was always afraid to die ; because I must have left
my mamma, and my sister ; but I am not afraid of
going anywhere with those I love."
Jones was so pleased with this answer, that he
eagerly kissed the child ; and soon after Mrs Miller
returned, saying, " She thanked heaven Nancy was now
come to herself. And now, Betsy," says she, "you
may go in, for your sister is better, and longs to see
you." She then turned to Jones, and began to
renew her apologies for having disappointed him of his
breakfast.
" I hope, madam," said Jones, " I shall have a
more exquisite repast than any you could have pro-
vided for me. This, I assure you, will be the case,
if I can do any service to this little family of love.
But whatever success may attend my endeavours, I
am resolved to attempt it. I am very much deceived
in Mr Nightingale, if, notwithstanding what hath hap-
pened, he hath not much goodness of heart at the
bottom, as well as a very violent affection for your
daughter. If this be the case, I think the picture
which I shall lay before him will affect him. En-
deavour, madam, to comfort yourself, and Miss Nancy,
as well as you can. I will go instantly in quest of
Mr Nightingale ; and I hope to bring you good
news."
Mrs Miller fell upon her knees and invoked ail the
blessings of heaven upon Mr Jones ; to which she
afterwards added the most passionate expressions of
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 7
gratitude. He then departed to find Mr Nightingale,
and the good woman returned to comfort her daughter,
who was somewhat cheared at what her mother told
her ; and both joined in resounding the praises of Mr
Jones.
The interv'ieiv bettveen Mr Jones and Mr
Nightingale.
THE good or evil we confer on others very often,
I believe, recoils on ourselves. For as men of
a benign disposition enjoy their own acts of
beneficence equally with those to whom they are done,
so there are scarce any natures so entirely diabolical, as
to be capable of doing injuries, without paying them-
selves some pangs for the ruin which they bring on
their fellow-creatures.
Mr Nightingale, at least, was not such a person.
On the contrary, Jones found him in his new lodgings,
sitting melancholy by the fire, and silently lamenting
the unhappy situation in which he had placed poor
Nancy. He no sooner saw his friend appear than he
arose hastily to meet him ; and after much congratu-
lation said, " Nothing could be more opportune than
this kind visit ; for I was never more in the spleen in
my life."
" I am sorry," answered Jones, " that I bring news
very unlikely to relieve you : nay, what I am convinced
must, of all other, shock you the most. However, it
is necessary you should know it. Without further pre-
face, then, I come to you, Mr Nightingale, from a
worthy family, which you have involved in misery
and iTjin." Mr Nightingale changed colour at these
l8 THE HISTORY OF
words ; but Jones, without regarding it, proceeded, in
the liveliest manner, to paint the tragical story with
which the reader was acquainted in the last chapter.
Nightingale never once interrupted the narration,
though he discovered violent emotions at many parts
of it. But when it was concluded, after fetching a
deep sigh, he said, *' What you tell me, my friend,
affects me in the tenderest manner. Sure there never
was so cursed an accident as the poor girl's betraying
my letter. Her reputation might otherwise have been
safe, and the affair might have remained a profound
secret ; and then the girl might have gone off never
the worse ; for many such things happen in this town :
and if the husband should suspect a little, when it is
too late, it will be his wiser conduct to conceal his
suspicion both from his wife and the world."
" Indeed, my friend," answered Jones, " this could
not have been the case with your poor Nancy. You
have so entirely gained her affections, that it is the loss
of you, and not of her reputation, which afflicts her,
and will end in the destruction of her and her family."
" Nay, for that matter, I promise you," cries Night-
ingale, " she hath my affections so absolutely, that my
wife, whoever she is to be, will have very little share
in them." " And is it possible then," said Jones,
" you can think of deserting her ? " " Why, what
can I do?" answered the other. "Ask Miss Nancy,"
replied Jones warmly. "In the condition to which you
have reduced her, I sincerely think she ought to deter-
mine what reparation you shall make her. Her interest
alone, and not yours, ought to be your sole considera-
tion. But if you ask me what you shall do, what
can you do less," cries Jones, " than fulfil the expecta-
tions of her family, and her own ? Nay, I sincerely
tell you, they were mine too, ever since I first saw you
together. You will pardon me if I presume on the
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 9
friendship you have favoured me with, moved as I am
with compassion for those poor creatures. But your
own heart will best suggest to you, whether you have
never intended, by your conduct, to persuade the
mother, as well as the daughter, into an opinion, that
you designed honourably : and if so, though there may
have been no direct promise of marriage in the case, I
will leave to your own good understanding, how far
you are bound to proceed."
" Nay, I must not only confess what you have
hinted," said Nightingale ; " but I am afraid even
that very promise you mention I have given." " And
can you, after owning that," said Jones, " hesitate a
moment ? " " Consider, my friend," answered the
other ; " I know you are a man of honour, and would
advise no one to act contrary to its rules ; if there
were no other objection, can I, after this publication of
her disgrace, think of such an alliance with honour?"
" Undoubtedly," replied Jones, " and the very best and
truest honour, which is goodness, requires it of you.
As you mention a scruple of this kind, you will give
me leave to examine it. Can you with honour be
guilty of having under false pretences deceived a young
woman and her family, and of having by these means
treacherously robbed her of her innocence ? Can you,
with honour, be the knowing, the wilful occasion, nay,
the artful contriver of the ruin of a human being ? Can
you, with honour, destroy the fame, the peace, nay, pro-
bably, both the life and soul too, of this creature ? Can
honour bear the thought, that this creature is a tender,
helpless, defenceless, young woman ? A young woman,
who loves, who doats on you, who dies for you ; who
hath placed the utmost confidence in your promises ;
and to that confidence hath sacrificed everything which
is dear to her ? Can honour support such contempla-
dons as these a moment ? "
20 THE HISTORY OF
" Common sense, indeed," said Nightingale, " war-
rants all you say ; but yet you well know the opinion
of the world is so contrary to it, that, was I to marry
a whore, though my own, I should be ashamed of ever
showing my face again."
" Fie upon it, Mr Nightingale ! " said Jones, " do
not call her by so ungenerous a name : when you
promised to marry her she became your wife ; and she
hath sinned more against prudence than virtue. And
what is this world which you would be ashamed to
face but the vile, the foolish, and the profligate ? For-
give me if I say such a shame must proceed from false
modesty, which always attends false honour as its
shadow. — But I am well assured there is not a man of
real sense and goodness in the world who would not
honour and applaud the action. But, admit no other
would, would not your own heart, my friend, applaud
it ? And do not the warm, rapturous sensations,
which we feel from the consciousness of an honest,
noble, generous, benevolent action, convey more delight
to the mind than the undeserved praise of millions ?
Set the alternative fairly before your eyes. On the
one side, see this poor, unhappy, tender, believing girl,
in the arms of her wretched mother, breathing her last.
Hear her breaking heart in agonies, sighing out your
name ; and lamenting, rather than accusing, the cruelty
which weighs her down to destnaction. Paint to your
imagination the circumstances of her fond despairing
parent, driven to madness, or, perhaps, to death, by the
loss of her lovely daughter. View the poor, helpless,
orphan infant ; and when your mind hath dwelt a
moment only on such ideas, consider yourself as the
cause of all the ruin of this poor, little, worthy, defence-
less family. On the other side, consider yourself as
relieving them from their temporary sufferings. Think
with what joy, with what transports that lovely creature
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 21
will fly to your arms. See her blood returning to her
pale cheeks, her fire to her languid eyes, and raptures
to her tortured breast. Consider the exultations of her
mother, the happiness of all. Think of this little
family made by one act of yours completely happy.
Think of this alternative, and sure I am mistaken in
my friend if it requires any long deliberation whether
he will sink these wretches down for ever, or, by one
generous, noble resolution, raise them all from the brink
of misery and despair to the highest pitch of human
happiness. Add to this but one consideration more ;
the consideration that it is your duty so to do — 'That
the misery from which you will relieve these poor
people is the misery which you yourself have wilfully
brought upon them."
" O, my dear friend ! " cries Nightingale, " I wanted
not your eloquence to rouse me. I pity poor Nancy
from my soul, and would willingly give anything in my
power that no familiarities had ever passed between us.
Nay, believe me, I had many struggles with my passion
before I could prevail with myself to write that cruel
letter, which hath caused all the misery in that unhappy
family. If I had no inclinations to consult but my own,
I would marry her to-morrow morning : I would, by
heaven ! but you will easily imagine how impossible it
would be to prevail on my father to consent to such a
match ; besides, he hath provided another for me ; and
to-morrow, by his express command, I am to wait on
the lady."
" I have not the honour to know your father," said
Jones ; " but, suppose he could be persuaded, would you
yourself consent to the only means of preserving these
poor people ? " " As eagerly as I would pursue my
happiness," answered Nightingale : " for I never shall
find it in any other woman. — O, my dear friend ! could
you imagine what I have felt within these twelve hours
22 THE HISTORY OF
for my poor girl, I am convinced she would not engross
all your pity. Passion leads me only to her ; and, if
I had any foolish scruples of honour, you have fully
satisfied them : could my father be induced to comply
with my desires, nothing would be wanting to compleat
my own happiness or that of my Nancy."
" Then I am resolved to undertake it," said Jones.
" You must not be angry with me, in whatever light it
may be necessary to set this affair, which, you may
depend on it, could not otherwise be long hid from
him : for things of this nature make a quick progress
when once they get abroad, as this unhappily hath
already. Besides, should any fatal accident follow, as
upon my soul I am afraid will, unless immediately pre-
vented, the public would ring of your name in a manner
which, if your father hath common humanity, must
offend him. If you will therefore tell me where I may
find the old gentleman, I will not lose a moment in
the business ; which, while I pursue, you cannot do a
more generous action than by paying a visit to the
poor girl. You will find I have not exaggerated in
the account I have given of the wretchedness of the
family."
Nightingale immediately consented to the proposal ;
and now, having acquainted Jones with his father's
lodging, and the coffee-house where he would most
probably find him, he hesitated a moment, and then
said, " My dear Tom, you are going to undertake an
impossibility. If you knew my father you would never
think of obtaining his consent. Stay, there is one
way — suppose you told him I was already married, it
might be easier to reconcile him to the fact after it was
done ; and, upon my honour, I am so affected with
what you have said, and I love my Nancy so passion-
ately, I almost wish it was done, whatever might be
the consequence."
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 23
Jones greatly approved the hint, and promised to
pursue it. They then separated, Nightingale to visit
his Nancy, and Jones in quest of the old gentleman.
C-Npter btti.
What passed between Jones and old Mr Nightingale ;
nvith the arrival of a person not yet mentioned in
this history.
NOTWITHSTANDING the sentiment of the
Roman satirist, which denies the divinity of
fortune, and the opinion of Seneca to the same
pui-pose ; Cicero, who was, I believe, a wiser man
than either of them, expressly holds the contrary ; and
certain it is, there are some incidents in life so very
strange and unaccountable, that it seems to require more
than human skill and foresight in producing them.
Of this kind was what now happened to Jones, who
found Mr Nightingale the elder in so critical a minute,
that Fortune, if she was really worthy all the worship
she received at Rome, could not have contrived such
another. In short, the old gentleman, and the father
of the young lady whom he intended for his son, had
been hard at it for many hours ; and the latter was just
now gone, and had left the former delighted with the
thoughts that he had succeeded in a long contention,
which had been between the two fathers of the future
bride and bridegroom ; in which both endeavoured to
overreach the other, and, as it not rarely happens in
such cases, both had retreated fully satisfied of having
obtained the victory.
This gentleman, whom Mr Jones now visited, was
what they call a man of the world ; that is to say, a
24 THE HISTORY OF
man who directs his conduct in this world as one who,
being flilly persuaded there is no other, is resolved to
make the most of this. In his early years he had been
bred to trade ; but, having acquired a very good for-
tune, he had lately declined his business ; or, to speak
more properly, had changed it from dealing in goods,
to dealing only in money, of which he had always a
plentiful fund at command, and of which he knew very
well how to make a very plentiful advantage, sometimes
of the necessities of private men, and sometimes of those
of the public. He had indeed conversed so entirely
with money, that it may be almost doubted whether he
imagined there was any other thing really existing in
the world ; this at least may be certainly averred, that
he firmly believed nothing else to have any real value.
The reader will, I fancy, allow that Fortune could
not have culled out a more improper person for Mr
Jones to attack with any probability of success ; nor
could the whimsical lady have directed this attack at a
more unseasonable time.
As money then was always uppermost in this gentle-
man's thoughts, so the moment he saw a stranger
within his doors it immediately occurred to his ima-
gination, that such stranger was either come to bring
him money, or to fetch it from him. And according
as one or other of these thoughts prevailed, he con-
ceived a favourable or unfavourable idea of the person
who approached him.
Unluckily for Jones, the latter of these was the
ascendant at present ; for as a young gentleman had
visited him the day before, with a bill from his son for
a play debt, he apprehended, at the first sight of Jones,
that he was come on such another errand. Jones
therefore had no sooner told him that he was come on
his son's account than the old gentleman, being con-
firmed in his suspicion, burst forth into an exclamation,
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 25
"That he would lose his labour." "Is it then
possible, sir," answered Jones, " that you can guess my
business ? " " If I do guess it," replied the other, " I
repeat again to you, you will lose your labour. What,
I suppose you are one of those sparks who lead my
son into all those scenes of riot and debauchery, which
will be his destruction ? but I shall pay no more of his
bills, I promise you. I expect he will quit all such
company for the future. If I had imagined otherwise,
I should not have provided a wife for him ; for I
would be instrumental in the ruin of nobody." " How,
sir," said Jones, " and was this lady of your providing ? "
" Pray, sir," answered the old gentleman, " how comes
it to be any concern of yours?" — "Nay, dear sir,"
replied Jones, " be not offended that I interest myself
in what regards your son's happiness, for whom I have
so great an honour and value. It was upon that very
account I came to wait upon you. I can't express
the satisfaction you have given me by what you say ;
for I do assure you your son is a person for whom I
have the highest honour. — Nay, sir, it is not easy to
express the esteem I have for you ; who could be so
generous, so good, so kind, so indulgent to provide
such a match for your son ; a woman, who, I dare
swear, will make him one of the happiest men upon
earth."
There is scarce anything which so happily introduces
men to our good liking, as having conceived some
alarm at their first appearance ; when once those ap-
prehensions begin to vanish we soon forget the fears
which they occasioned, and look on ourselves as in-
debted for our present ease to those very persons who
at first raised our fears.
Thus it happened to Nightingale, who no sooner
found that Jones had no demand on him, as he sus-
pected, than he began to be pleased with his presence.
26 THE HISTORY OF
" Pray, good sir," said he, " be pleased to sit down.
I do not remember to have ever had the pleasure of
seeing you before ; but if you are a friend of my son,
and have anything to say concerning this young lady, I
shall be glad to hear you. As to her making him
happy, it will be his own fault if she doth not. I have
discharged my duty, in taking care of the main article.
She will bring him a fortune capable of making any
reasonable, prudent, sober man, happy." " Un-
doubtedly," cries Jones, "for she is in herself a
fortune ; so beautiful, so genteel, so sweet-tempered,
and so well-educated ; she is indeed a most accom-
plished young lady ; sings admirably well, and hath
a most delicate hand at the harpsichord." " I did
not know any of these matters," answered the old
gentleman, *' for I never saw the lady : but I do not
like her the worse for what you tell me ; and I am the
better pleased with her father for not laying any stress
on these qualifications in our bargain. I shall always
think it a proof of his understanding. A silly fellow
would have brought in these articles as an addition to
her fortune ; but, to give him his due, he never men-
tioned any such matter ; though to be sure they are
no disparagements to a woman." "I do assui-e you,
sir," cries Jones, " she hath them all in the most
eminent degree : for my part, I own I was afraid you
might have been a little backward, a little less inclined to
the match ; for your son told me you had never seen
the lady ; therefore I came, sir, in that case, to en-
ti-eat you, to conjure you, as you value the happiness of
your son, not to be averse to his match with a woman
who hath not only all the good qualities I have men-
tioned, but many more." — " If that was your business,
sir," said the old gentleman, " we are both obliged to
you ; and you may be perfectly easy ; for I give you
my word I was very well satisfied with her fortune."
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 27
" Sir," answered Jones, " I honour you every moment
more and more. To be so easily satisfied, so very
moderate on that account, is a proof of the soundness
of your understanding, as well as the nobleness of your
mind." " Not so very moderate, young gentleman,
not so very moderate," answered the father. — " Still
more and more noble," replied Jones ; " and give me
leave to add, sensible: for sure it is little less than
madness to consider money as the sole foundation of
happiness. Such a woman as this with her little, her
nothing of a fortune" — " I find," cries the old gentle-
man, " you have a pretty just opinion of money, my
friend, or else you are better acquainted with the person
of the lady than with her circumstances. Why, pray,
what fortune do you imagine this lady to have?"
"What fortune ? " cries Jones, "why, too contemptible
a one to be named for your son." — "Well, well, well,"
said the other, " perhaps he might have done better."
" That I deny," said Jones, " for she is one of the
best of women." — "Ay, ay, but in point of fortune I
mean," answered the other. "And yet, as to that
now, how much do you imagine your friend is to have ? "
— " How much ? " cries Jones, " how much ? Why,
at the utmost, perhaps ^200." " Do you mean to
banter me, young gentleman ? " said the father, a little
angry. " No, upon my soul," answered Jones, " I am
in earnest : nay, I believe I have gone to the utmost
farthing. If I do the lady an injury, I ask her pardon."
" Indeed you do," cries the father ; " I am certain she
hath fifty times that sum, and she shall produce fifty to
that before I consent that she shall marry my son."
" Nay," said Jones, " it is too late to talk of consent
now ; if she had not fifty farthings your son is married."
— " My son married ! " answered the old gentleman,
with surprize. "Nay," said Jones, " I thought you
was unacquainted with it." "My son married to Miss
28 THE HISTORY OF
Harris ! " answered he again. " To Miss Harris ! "
said Jones ; " no, sir ; to Miss Nancy Miller, the
daughter of Mrs Miller, at v/hose house he lodged ; a
young lady, who, though her mother is reduced to let
lodgings — " — " Are you bantering, or are you in
earnest ? " cries the father, with a most solemn voice.
" Indeed, sir," answered Jones, " I scorn the char-
acter of a banterer. I came to you in most serious
earnest, imagining, as I find true, that your son had
never dared acquaint you with a match so much inferior
to him in point of fortune, though the reputation of the
lady will suffer it no longer to remain a secret."
While the father stood like one struck suddenly
dumb at this news, a gentleman came into the room,
and saluted him by the name of brother.
But though these two were in consanguinity so
nearly related, they were in their dispositions almost
the opposites to each other. The brother who now
arrived had like-wise been bred to trade, in which he
no sooner sawhimself worth <^6ooo than he purchased
a small estate with the greatest part of it, and retired
into the country ; where he married the daughter of an
unbeneficed clergyman ; a young lady, who, though
she had neither beauty nor fortune, had recommended
herself to his choice entirely by her good humour, of
which she ])ossessed a very large share.
With this woman he had, during twenty-five years,
lived a Hfe more resembling the model which certain
poets ascribe to the golden age, than any of those
patterns which are furnished by the present times. By
her he had four children, but none of them arrived at
maturity, except only one daughter, whom, in vulgar
language, he and his wife had spoiled ; that is, had
educated with the utmost tenderness and fondness,
which she returned to such a degree, that she had
actually refused a very extraordinary match with a
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 2g
gentleman a little turned of forty, because she could
not bring herself to part with her parents.
The young lady whom Mr Nightingale had intended
for his son was a near neighbour of his brother, and an
acquaintance of his niece ; and in reality it was upon
the account of his projected match that he was now
come to town ; not, indeed, to forward, but to dissuade
his brother from a purpose which he conceived would
inevitably ruin his nephew ; for he foresaw no other
event from a union with Miss Harris, notwithstanding
the largeness of her fortune, as neither her person nor
mind seemed to him to promise any kind of matri-
monial felicity : for she was very tall, very thin, very
ugly, very affected, very silly, and very ill-natured.
His brother, therefore, no sooner mentioned the
marriage of his nephew with Miss Miller, than he
exprest the utmost satisfaction ; and when the father
had very bitterly reviled his son, and pronounced sen-
tence of beggary upon him, the uncle began in the
following manner :
" If you was a little cooler, brother, I would ask
you whether you love your son for his sake or for
your own. You would answer, I suppose, and so I
suppose you think, for his sake ; and doubtless it is
his happiness which you intended in the marriage you
proposed for him.
" Now, brother, to prescribe rules of happiness to
others hath always appeared to me very absurd, and
to insist on doing this, very tyrannical. It is a vulgar
error, I know ; but it is, nevertheless, an error. And
if this be absurd in other things, it is mostly so in the
affair of marriage, the happiness of which depends
entirely on the affection which subsists between the
parties.
" I have therefore always thought it unreasonable in
parents to desire to chuse for their children on this
30 THE HISTORY OF
occasion ; since to force aftection is an impossible at-
tempt ; nay, so much doth love abhor force, that I
know not whether, through an unfortunate but uncur-
able perverseness in our natures, it may not be even
impatient of persuasion.
" It is, however, true that, though a parent will not,
i think, wisely prescribe, he ought to be consulted on
this occasion ; and, in strictness, perhaps, should at
least have a negative voice. My nephew, therefore,
I own, in marrying, without asking your advice, hath
been guilty of a fault. But, honestly speaking, brother,
have you not a little promoted this fault ? Have not
your frequent declarations on this subject given him a
moral certainty of your refusal, where there was any
deficiency in point of fortune ? Nay, doth not your
present anger arise solely from that deficiency ? And
if he hath failed in his duty here, did you not as mucli
exceed that authority when you absolutely bargained
with him for a woman, without his knowledge, whom
you yourself never saw, and whom, if you had seen
and known as well as I, it must have been madness
in you to have ever thought of bringing her into your
family ?
" Still I own my nephew in a fault ; but surely it is
not an unpardonable fault. He hath acted indeed with-
out your consent, in a matter in which he ought to
have asked it, but it is in a matter in which his interest
is principally concerned ; you yourself must and will
acknowledge that you consulted his interest only, and
if he unfortunately differed from you, and hath been
mistaken in his notion of happiness, will you, brother,
if you love your son, carry him still wider from the
point ? Will you increase the ill consequences of his
simple choice ? Will you endeavour to make an event
certain misery to him, which may accidentally prove
80 ? In a word, brother, because he hath put it out of
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 3 1
your power to make his circumstances as affluent as you
would, will you distress them as much as you can ? "
By the force of the true Catholic faith St Anthony
won upon the fishes. Orpheus and Amphion went a
little farther, and by the charms of music enchanted
things merely inanimate. Wonderful, both ! but
neither history nor fable have ever yet ventured to
record an instance of any one, who, by force of argu-
ment and reason, hath triumphed over habitual avarice.
Mr Nightingale, the father, instead of attempting to
answer his brother, contented himself with only observ-
ing, that they had always differed in their sentiments
concerning the education of their childi'en. " I wish,"
said he, " brother, you would have confined your care
to your own daughter, and never have troubled your-
self with my son, who hath, I believe, as little profited
by your precepts, as by your example." For young
Nightingale was his uncle's godson, and had lived more
with him than with his father. So that the uncle had
often declared he loved his nephew almost equally with
his own child.
Jones fell into raptui-es with this good gentleman ;
and when, after much persuasion, they found the father
grew still more and more irritated, instead of appeased,
Jones conducted the uncle to his nephew at the house
of Mrs Miller.
Containing strange matters.
AT his retiu-n to his lodgings, Jones found the
situation of affairs greatly altered from what
they had been in at his departure. The mother,
the two daughters, and young Mr Nightingale, were
now sat down to supper together, when the uncle was.
32 THE HISTORY OF
at his own desire, introduced without any ceremony
into the company, to all of whom he was well known ;
for he had several times visited his nephew at that
house.
The old gentleman immediately walked up to Miss
Nancy, saluted and wished her joy, as he did after-
wards the mother and the other sister ; and lastly, he
paid the proper compliments to his nephew, with the
same good humour and courtesy, as if his nephew had
married his equal or superior in fortune, with all the
previous requisites first performed.
Miss Nancy and lier supposed husband both turned
pale, and looked rather foolish than otherwise upon
the occasion ; but Mrs Miller took the first opportunity
of withdrawing ; and, having sent for Jones into the
dining-room, she threw herself at his feet, and in a
most passionate flood of tears, called him her good
angel, the preserver of her poor little family, with
many other respectful and endearing appellations, and
made him every acknowledgment which the highest
benefit can extract from the most grateful heart.
After the first gust of her passion was a little over,
which she declared, if she had not vented, would have
burst her, she proceeded to inform Mr Jones that all
matters were settled between Mr Nightingale and her
daughter, and that they were to be married the next
morning ; at which Mr Jones having expressed much
pleasure, the poor woman fell again into a fit of joy
and thanksgiving, which he at length with difficulty
silenced, and prevailed on her to return with him back
to the company, whom they found in the same good
humour in which they had left them.
This little society now past two or three very
agreeable hours together, in which the uncle, who was
a very great lover of his bottle, had so well plyed his
nephew, that this latter, though not drunk, began to be
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 33
somewhat flustered ; and now Mr Nightingale, taking
the old gentleman with him upstairs into the apart-
ment he had lately occupied, unbosomed himself as
follows : —
" As you have been always the best and kindest of
uncles to me, and as you have shown such unparalleled
goodness in forgiving this match, which to be sure may
be thought a little improvident, I should never forgive
myself if I attempted to deceive you in anything."
He then confessed the tmth, and opened the whole
affair.
" How, Jack ? " said the old gentleman, " and are
you really then not married to this young woman ? "
"No, upon my honour," answered Nightingale, "I
have told you the simple truth." " My dear boy,"
cries the uncle, kissing him, " I am heartily glad to
hear it. I never was better pleased in my life. If
you had been married I should have assisted you as
much as was in my power to have made the best of a
bad matter ; but there is a great difference between
considering a thing which is already done and irre-
coverable, and that which is yet to do. Let your
reason have fair play. Jack, and you will see this match
in so foolish and preposterous a light, that there will
be no need of any dissuasive arguments." " How,
sir?" replies young Nightingale, "is there this dif-
ference between having already done an act, and being
in honour engaged to do it?" " Pugh ! " said the
uncle, " honour is a creature of the world's making,
and the world hath the power of a creator over it, and
may govern and direct it as they please. Now you
well know how trivial these breaches of contract are
thought ; even the grossest make but the wonder and
conversation of a day. Is there a man who afterwards
will be more backward in giving you his sister, or
daughter ? or is there any sister or daughter who would
IV. c
34 THE HISTORY OF
be more backward to receive you ? Honour is not
concerned in these engagements." " Pardon me, dear
sir," cries Nightingale, " I can never think so ; and
not only honour, but conscience and humanity, are
concerned. I am well satisfied, that, was I now to
disappoint the young creature, her death would be
the consequence, and I should look upon myself as
her murderer ; nay, as her murderer by the cruellest
of all methods, by breaking her heart." " Break her
heart, indeed ! no, no. Jack," cries the uncle, " the
hearts of women are not so soon broke ; they are tough,
boy, they are tough." " But, sir," answered Nightin-
gale, " my own affections are engaged, and I never
could be happy with any other woman. How often
have I heard you say, that children should be always
suffered to chuse for themselves, and that you would
let my cousin Harriet do so ? " " Why, ay," replied
the old gentleman, " so I would have them ; but then
I would have them chuse wisely. — Indeed, Jack, you
must and shall leave the girl." " Indeed, uncle,"
cries the other, " I must and will have her." " You
will, young gentleman ; " said the uncle ; " I did not
expect such a word from you. I should not wonder if
you had used such language to youi" father, who hath
always treated you like a dog, and kept you at the
distance which a tyrant preserves over his subjects ;
but I, who have lived with you upon an equal footing,
might surely expect better usage : but I know how to
account for it all : it is all owing to your preposterous
education, in which I have had too little share. There
is my daughter, now, whom I have brought up as my
friend, never doth anything without my advice, nor
ever refuses to take it when I give it her." "You
have never yet given her advice in an affair of this
kind," said Nightingale ; " for I am greatly mistaken in
my cousin, if she would be very ready to obey even your
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 35
most positive commands in abandoning her inclinations."
" Don't abuse my girl," answered the old gentleman
with some emotion ; " don't abuse my Harriet. I
have brought her up to have no inclinations contrary to
my own. By suffering her to do whatever she pleases,
I have enured her to a habit of being pleased to do
whatever I like." "Pardon, me, sii"," said Nightin-
gale, " I have not the least design to reflect on my
cousin, for whom I have the greatest esteem ; and
indeed I am convinced you will never put her to so
severe a tryal, or lay such hard commands on her as
you would do on me. — But, dear sir, let us return to
the company ; for they will begin to be uneasy at our
long absence. I must beg one favour of my dear uncle,
which is that he would not say anything to shock the
poor girl or her mother." " Oh ! you need not fear
me," answered he, " I understand myself too well to
affront women ; so I will readily grant you that favour ;
and in return I must expect another of you." " There
are but few of your commands, sir," said Nightingale,
" which I shall not very chearfully obey." " Nay,
sir, I ask nothing," said the uncle, " but the honour of
your company home to my lodging, that I may reason
the case a little more fully with you ; for I would, if
possible, have the satisfaction of preserving my family,
notwithstanding the headstrong folly of my brother,
who, in his ov/n opinion, is the wisest man in the
world."
Nightingale, who well knew his uncle to be as head-
strong as his father, submitted to attend him home, and
then they both returned back into the room, where the
old gentleman promised to carry himself with the same
decorum which he had before maintained.
36 THE HISTORY OF
yi short chapter, 'which corxludes the hook.
THE long absence of the uncle and nephew had
occasioned some disquiet in the minds of all
whom they had left behind them ; and the
more, as, during the preceding dialogue, the uncle had
more than once elevated his voice, so as to be heard
downstairs ; which, though they could not distinguish
what he said, had caused some evil foreboding in Nancy
and her mother, and, indeed, even in Jones himself.
When the good company, therefore, again assembled,
there was a visible alteration in all their faces ; and the
good-humour which, at their last meeting, universally
shone forth in every countenance, was now changed
into a much less agreeable aspect. It was a change,
indeed, common enough to the weather in this climate,
from sunshine to clouds, from June to Decembei".
This alteration was not, however, greatly remarked
by any present ; for as they were all now endeavouring
to conceal their own thoughts, and to act a part, they
became all too busily engaged in the scene to be spec-
tators of it. Thus neither the uncle nor nephew saw
any symptoms of suspicion in the mother or daughter ;
nor did the mother or daughter remark the overacted
complacence of the old man, nor the counterfeit satis-
faction which grinned in the featvu'es of the young one.
Something like this, I believe, frequently happens,
where the whole attention of two friends being engaged
in the part which each is to act, in order to impose on
the other, neither sees nor suspects the arts practised
against himself; and thus the thrust of both (to borrow
no improper metaphor on the occasion) alike takes
place.
From the same reason it is no unusual thing for both
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 37
parties to be overreached in a bargain, though the one
must be always the greater loser ; as was he who sold
a blind horse, and received a bad note in payment.
Our company in about half an hour broke up, and
the uncle carried off his nephew ; but not before the
latter had assured Miss Nancy, in a whisper, that he
would attend her early in the morning, and fulfil all
his engagements-
Jones, who was the least concerned in this scene,
saw the most. He did indeed suspect the very fact ;
for, besides observing the great alteration in the be-
haviour of the uncle, the distance he assumed, and his
overstrained civility to Miss Nancy ; the carrying off a
bridegroom from his bride at that time of night was so
extraordinary a proceeding that it could be accounted
for only by imagining that young Nightingale had re-
vealed the whole truth, which the apparent openness of
his temper, and his being flustered with liquor, made
too probable.
While he was reasoning v/ith himself, whether he
should acquaint these poor people with his suspicion,
the maid of the house informed him that a gentlewoman
desired to speak with him. He went immediately
out, and, taking the candle from the maid, ushered his
visitant upstairs, who, in the person of Mrs Honour,
acquainted him with such di'eadful news concerning his
Sophia, that he immediately lost all consideration for
every other person ; and his whole stock of compassion
was entirely swallowed up in reflections on his own
misery, and on that of his unfortunate angel.
What this dreadful matter was, the reader will be
informed, after we have first related the many preced-
ing steps which produced it, and those will be the
subject of the following book.
BOOK XV.
IN WHICH THE HISTORY ADVANCES ABOUT TWO DAYS.
Too short to need a preface.
THERE are a set of religious, or rather moral
writers, who teach that virtue is the certain
road to happiness, and vice to misery, in this
world. A very wholesome and comfortable doctrine,
and to which we have but one objection, namely, that
it is not true.
Indeed, if by virtue these writers mean the exercise
of those cardinal virtues, which like good housewives
stay at home, and mind only the business of their own
family, I shall very readily concede the point ; for so
surely do all these contribute and lead to happiness,
that I could almost wish, in violation of all the antient
and modern sages, to call them rather by the name
of wisdom, than by that of virtue ; for, with regard
to this life, no system, I conceive, was ever wiser than
that of the antient Epicureans, who held this wisdom
to constitute the chief good ; nor foolisher than that
of their opposites, those modern epicures, who place all
felicity in the abundant gratification of every sensual
appetite.
38
THE HISTORY OF TOM JONES. 39
But if by virtue is meant (as I almost think it
ought) a certain relative quality, which is always
busying itself without-doors, and seems as much in-
terested in pursuing the good of others as its own ;
I cannot so easily agree that this is the surest way
to human happiness ; because I am afraid we must
then include poverty and contempt, with all the mis-
chiefs which backbiting, envy, and ingratitude, can
bring on mankind, in our idea of happiness ; nay,
sometimes perhaps we shall be obliged to wait upon
the said happiness to a jail ; since many by the above
virtue have brought themselves thither.
I have not now leisure to enter upon so large a field
of speculation, as here seems opening upon me ; my
design was to wipe off a doctrine that lay in my way ;
since, while Mr Jones was acting the most virtuous
part imaginable in labouring to preserve his fellow-
creatures from destmction, the devil, or some other
evil spirit, one perhaps cloathed in human flesh, was
hard at work to make him completely miserable in the
ruin of his Sophia.
This therefore would seem an exception to the above
rule, if indeed ^it was a rule ; but as we have in our
voyage through life seen so many other exceptions
to it, we chuse to dispute the doctrine on which
it is founded, which we don't apprehend to be
Christian, which we are convinced is not tme, and
which is indeed destructive of one of the noblest argu-
ments that reason alone can furnish for the belief of
immortality.
But as the reader's curiosity (if he hath any) must
be now awake, and hungry, we shall provide to feed it
as fast as we can.
40 THE HISTORY OF
In ivhkh is opened a very black design against Sophia.
1 REMEMBER a wise old gentleman who used to
say, " When children are doing nothing, they are
doing mischief." I will not enlarge this quaint
saying to the most beautiful part of the creation in
general ; but so far I may be allowed, that when the
effects of female jealousy do not appear openly in their
proper colours of rage and fury, we may suspect
that mischievous passion to be at work privately, and
attempting to undermine, what it doth not attack
above-ground.
This was exemplified in the conduct of Lady
Bellaston, who, under all the smiles which she wore in
her countenance, concealed much indignation against
Sophia ; and as she plainly saw that this young lady
stood between her and the full indulgence of her de-
sires, she resolved to get rid of her by some means or
other ; nor was it long before a very favourable oppor-
tunity of accomplishing this presented itself to her.
The reader may be pleased to remember, that when
Sophia was thrown into that consternation at the play-
house, by the wit and humour of a set of young
gentlemen who call themselves the town, we informed
him, that she had put herself under the protection of a
young nobleman, who had very safely conducted her to
her chair.
This nobleman, who frequently visited Lady Bellas-
ton, had more than once seen Sophia there, since her
arrival in town, and had conceived a very great liking
to her ; which liking, as beauty never looks more
amiable than in distress, Sophia laad in this fright so
encreased, that he might now, without any great im-
propriety, be said to be actually in love with her.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 4I
It may easily be believed, that he would not suffer
so handsome an occasion of improving his acquaintance
with the beloved object as now offered itself to elapse,
when even good breeding alone might have prompted
him to pay her a visit.
The next morning therefore, after this accident, he
waited on Sophia, with the usual compliments, and
hopes that she had received no harm from her last
night's adventure.
As love, like fire, when once thoroughly kindled, is
soon blown into a flame, Sophia in a very short time
compleated her conquest. Time now flew away unper-
ceived, and the noble lord had been two hours in
company with the lady, before it entered into his head
that he had made too long a visit. Though this cir-
cumstance alone would have alarmed Sophia, who was
somewhat more a mistress of computation at present ;
she had indeed much more pregnant evidence from the
eyes of her lover of what past within his bosom ; nay,
though he did not make any open declaration of his
passion, yet many of his expressions were rather too
warm, and too tender- to have been imputed to com-
placence, even in the age when such complacence was
in fashion ; the very reverse of which is well known
to be the reigning mode at present.
Lady Bellaston had been apprized of his lordship's
visit at his first arrival ; and the length of it very well
satisfied her, that things went as she wished, and as in-
deed she had suspected the second time she saw this
young couple together. This business, she rightly I
think concluded, that she should by no means forward
by mixing in the company while they were together ;
she therefore ordered her servants, that when my lord
was going, they should tell him she desired to speak
with him ; and employed the intermediate time in
meditating how best to accomplish a scheme, which
42 THE HISTORY OF
she made no doubt but his lordship would very readily
embrace the execution of.
Lord Fellamar (for that was the title of this young
nobleman) was no sooner introduced to her ladyship,
than she attacked him in the following strain : " Bless
me, my lord, are you here yet ? I thought my servants
had made a mistake, and let you go away ; and I wanted
to see you about an affair of some importance." " In-
deed, Lady Bellaston," said he, " I don't wonder you
are astonished at the length of my visit ; for I have
staid above two hours, and I did not think I had staid
above half-a-one." " What am I to conclude from
thence, my lord ? " said she. " The company must
be very agreeable which can make time slide away so
very deceitfully." " Upon my honour," said he,
" the most agreeable I ever saw. Pray tell me, Lady
Bellaston, who is this blazing star which you have
produced among us all of a sudden ? " " What
blazing star, my lord ? " said she, affecting a surprize.
" I mean," said he, " the lady I saw here the other
day, whom I had last night in ray arms at the play-
house, and to whom I have been making that un-
reasonable visit." " O, my cousin Western!"
said she ; " why, that blazing star, my lord, is the
daughter of a country booby squire, and hath been
in town about a fortnight, for the first time."
" Upon my soul," said he, " I should swear she had
been bred up in a court ; for besides her beauty, T
never saw anything so genteel, so sensible, so polite."
" O brave ! " cries the lady, " my cousin hath
you, I find." "Upon my honour," answered he,
" I wish she had ; for I am in love with her to
distraction." " Nay, my lord," said she, " it is
not wishing yourself very ill neither, for she is a very
great fortune : I assme you she is an only child, and
her father's estate is a good ^3000 a-year." "Then
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 43
I can assure you, madam," answered the lord, " I
think her the best match in England." " Indeed, my
lord," replied she, "if you like her, I heartily wish
you had her." " If you think so kindly of me,
madam," said he, "as she is a relation of yours, will
you do me the honour to propose it to her father ? "
" And are you really then in earnest ? " cries the
lady, with an affected gravity. " I hope, madam,"
answered he, " you have a better opinion of me, than
to imagine I would jest with your ladyship in an
affair of this kind." " Indeed, then," said the lady,
" I will most readily propose your lordship to her
father ; and I can, I believe, assure you of his joyful
acceptance of the proposal ; but there is a bar, which
I am almost ashamed to mention ; and yet it is one
you will never be able to conquer. You have a rival,
my lord, and a rival who, though I blush to name
him, neither you, nor all the world, will ever be able
to conquer." " Upon my word. Lady Bellaston,"
cries he, " you have struck a damp to my heart, which
hath almost deprived me of being." " Fie, my lord,"
said she, " I should rather hope I had struck fire into
you. A lover, and talk of damps in your heart ! I
rather imagined you would have asked your rival's
name, that you might have immediately entered the
lists with him." " I promise you, madam," answered
he, " there are very few things I would not undertake
for your charming cousin ; but pray, who is this happy
man ? " — " Why, he is," said she, " what I am sorry
to say most happy men with us are, one of the lowest
fellows in the world. He is a beggar, a bastard, a
foundling, a fellow in meaner circumstances than one
of your lordship's footmen." "And is it possible,"
cried he, " that a young creature with such perfections
should think of bestowing herself so unworthily ? "
" Alas ! my lord," answered she, " consider the
44 THE HISTORY OF
country — the bane of all young women is the country.
There they learn a set of romantic notions of love,
and I know not what folly, which this town and good
company can scarce eradicate in a whole winter."
"Indeed, madam," replied my lord, "your cousin is
of too immense a value to be thrown away ; such
ruin as this must be prevented." "Alas! " cries she,
" my lord, how can it be prevented ? The family
have already done all in their power ; but the girl is,
I think, intoxicated, and nothing less than ruin will
content her. And to deal more openly with you, I
expect every day to hear she is mn away with him."
"What you tell me, Lady Bellaston," answered his
lordship, "affects me most tenderly, and only raises
my compassion, Instead of lessening my adoration of
your cousin. Some means must be found to preserve
so Inestimable a jewel. Hath your ladyship endeavoured
to reason with her ? " Here the lady aifected a laugh,
and cried, " My dear lord, sure you know us better
than to talk of reasoning a young woman out ot her
inclinations ? These inestimable jewels are as deaf as
the jewels they wear : time, my lord, time is the only
medicine to cure their folly ; but this is a medicine
which I am certain she will not take ; nay, I live
in hourly horrors on her account. In short, nothing
but violent methods will do." "What is to be
done ? " cries my lord ; " what methods are to be
taken? — Is there any method upon earth? — Oh!
Lady Bellaston ! there Is nothing which I would not
undertake for such a reward." " I really know
not," answered the lady, after a pause ; and then
pausing again, she cried out — " Upon my soul, I am
at my wit's end on this girl's account. — If she can
be preserved, something must be done Immediately ;
and, as I say, nothing but violent methods will do.
If your lordship hath really this attachment to
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 45
my cousin (and to do her justice, except in this silly
inclination, of which she will soon see her folly, she is
every way deserving), I think there may be one way,
indeed, it is a very disagreeable one, and what I am
almost afraid to think of. — It requires a great spirit, I
promise you." " I am not conscious, madam," said
he, " of any defect there ; nor am I, I hope, suspected
of any such. It must be an egregious defect indeed,
which could make me backward on this occasion."
" Nay, my lord," answered she, " I am so far from
doubting you, I am much more inclined to doubt my
own courage ; for I must run a monstrous risque. In
short, I must place such a confidence in your honour as
a wise woman will scarce ever place in a man on any
consideration." In this point likewise my lord very
well satisfied her ; for his reputation was extremely
clear, and common fame did him no more than justice,
in speaking well of him. " Well, then," said she,
" my lord, — I — I vow, I can't bear the apprehension
of it. — No, it must not be. At least every other
method shall be tried. Can you get rid of your en-
gagements, and dine here to-day ? Your lordship
will have an opportunity of seeing a little more of Miss
Western. — I promise you we have no time to lose.
Here will be nobody but Lady Betty, and Miss Eagle,
and Colonel Hampsted, and Tom Edwards ; they will
all go soon — and I shall be at home to nobody.
Then your lordship may be a little more explicit.
Nay, I will contrive some method to convince you of
her attachment to this fellow." My lord made proper
compliments, accepted the invitation, and then they
parted to dress, it being now past three in the morning,
or to reckon by the old style, in the afternoon.
46 THE HISTORY OF
A further explanation of the foregoing design.
THOUGH the reader may have long since con-
cluded Lady Bellaston to be a member (and no
inconsiderable one) of the great world ; she
was in reality a very considerable member of the little
world ; by which appellation was distinguished a very
worthy and honourable society which not long since
flourished in this kingdom.
Among other good principles upon which this society
was founded, there was one very remarkable ; for, as
it was a rule of an honourable club of heroes, who
assembled at the close of the late war, that all the
members should every day fight once at least ; so 'twas
in this, that every member should, within the twenty-
four hours, tell at least one merry fib, which was to be
propagated by all the brethren and sisterhood.
Many idle stories were told about this society, which
from a certain quality may be, perhaps not unjustly,
supposed to have come from the society themselves.
As, that the devil was the president ; and that he sat
in person in an elbow-chair at the upper end of the
table ; but, upon very strict enquiry, I find there is not
the least truth in any of those tales, and that the
assembly consisted in reality of a set of very good sort
of people, and the fibs which they propagated were of
a harmless kind, and tended only to produce mirth and
good humour.
Edwards was likewise a member of this comical
society. To him therefore Lady Bellaston applied as
a proper instrument for her purpose, and furnished him
with a fib, which he was to vent whenever the lady
gave him her cue ; and this was not to be till the
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 47
evening, when all the company but Lord Fellamar and
himself were gone, and while they were engaged in a
rubber at whist.
To this time then, which was between seven and
eight in the evening, we will convey our reader ; when
Lady Bellaston, Lord Fellamar, Miss Western, and
Tom, being engaged at whist, and in the last game of
their rubbers, Tom received his cue from Lady Bel-
laston, which was, " I protest, Tom, you are grown
intolerable lately ; you used to tell us all the news of
the town, and now you know no more of the world
than if you lived out of it."
Mr Edwards then began as follows : " The fault is
not mine, madam : it lies in the dulness of the age, that
doth nothing worth talking of. O la ! though now
I think on't there hath a terrible accident befallen poor
Colonel Wilcox. Poor Ned. You know him,
my lord, everybody knows him ; faith ! I am very
much concerned for him."
" What is it, pray ? " says Lady Bellaston.
" Why, he hath killed a man this morning in a duel,
that's all."
His lordship, who was not in the secret, asked
gravely, whom he had killed ? To which Edwards
answered, " A young fellow we none of us know ; a
Somersetshire lad just came to town, one Jones his
name is ; a near relation of one Mr Allworthy, of whom
your lordship I believe hath heard. I saw the lad lie
dead in a coffee-house. — Upon my soul, he is one of
the finest corpses I ever saw in my life ! "
Sophia, who had just began to deal as Tom had
mentioned that a man was killed, stopt her hand, and
listened with attention (for all stories of that kind
affected her), but no sooner had he arrived at the latter
part of the story than she began to deal again ; and
having dealt three cards to one, and seven to another.
48 THE HISTORY OF
and ten to a third, at last dropt the rest from her hand,
and fell back in her chair.
The company behaved as usually on these occasions.
The usual disturbance ensued, the usual assistance was
summoned, and Sophia at last, as it is usual, returned
again to life, and was soon after, at her earnest desire,
led to her own apartment ; whei-e, at my lord's re-
quest. Lady Bellaston acquainted her with the truth,
attempted to carry it off as a jest of her own, and com-
forted her with repeated assurances, that neither his
lordship nor Tom, though she had taught him the
story, were in the true secret of the affair.
There was no farther evidence necessary to convince
Lord Fellamar how justly the case had been repre-
sented to him by Lady Bellaston ; and now, at her
return into the room, a scheme was laid between these
two noble persons, which, though it appeared in no very
heinous light to his lordship (as he faithfully promised,
and faithfully resolved too, to make the lady all the
subsequent amends in his power by marriage), yet many
of our readers, v/e doubt not, will see with just de-
testation.
The next evening at seven was appointed for the fatal
purpose, when Lady Bellaston undertook that Sophia
should be alone, and his lordship should be introduced
to her. The whole family were to be regulated for
the purpose, most of the servants despatched out of the
house ; and for Mrs Honour, who, to prevent suspicion,
was to be left with her mistress till his lordship's arrival,
Lady Bellaston herself was to engage her in an apart-
ment as distant as possible from the scene of the
intended mischief, and out of the hearing of Sophia.
Matters being thus agreed on, his lordship took his
leave, and her ladyship retired to rest, highly pleased
with a project, of which she had no reason to doubt the
success, and which promised so effectually to remove
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 49
Sophia from being any further obstruction to her amour
with Jones, by a means of which she should never ap-
pear to be guilty, even if the fact appeared to the world ;
but this she made no doubt of preventing by huddling
up a marriage, to which she thought the ravished
Sophia would easily be brought to consent, and at
which all the rest of her family would rejoice.
But affairs were not in so quiet a situation in the
bosom of the other conspirator ; his mind was tost in
all the distracting anxiety so nobly described by
Shakespear —
" Between the acting of a dreadful thing,
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream ;
The genius and the mortal instruments
Are then in council ; and the state of man,
Like to a httle kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection."
Though the violence of his passion had made him
eagerly embrace the first hint of this design, especially
as it came from a relation of the lady, yet when that
friend to reflection, a pillow, had placed the action it-
self in all its natural black coloiu's before his eyes, with
all the consequences which must, and those which
might probably attend it, his resolution began to abate,
or rather indeed to go over to the other side ; and after
a long conflict, which lasted a whole night, between
honour and appetite, the former at length prevailed, and
he determined to wait on Lady Bellaston, and to relin-
quish the design.
Lady Bellaston was in bed, though very late in the
morning, and Sophia sitting by her bed-side, when the
servant acquainted her that Lord Fellamar was below
in the parlour ; upon which her ladyship desired him
to stay, and that she would see him presently ; but the
servant was no sooner departed than poor Sophia began
IV. D
50 THE HISTORY OF
to intreat her cousin not to encourage the visits of that
odious lord (so she called him, though a little unjustly)
upon her account. " I see his design," said she ; " for
he made downright love to me yesterday morning ; but
as I am resolved never to admit it, I beg your ladyship
not to leave us alone together any more, and to order
the servants that, if he enquires for me, I may be always
denied to him."
" La ! child," says Lady Bellaston, " you country
girls have nothing but sweethearts in your head ; you
fancy every man who is civil to you is making love.
He is one of the most gallant young fellows about
town, and I am convinced means no more than a little
gallantry. Make love to you indeed ! I wish with all
my heart he would, and you must be an arrant mad
woman to refuse him."
" But as I shall certainly be that mad woman," cries
Sophia, " I hope his visits shall not be intruded upon
me."
" O child ! " said Lady Bellaston, " you need not
be so fearful ; if you resolve to run away with that
Jones, I know no person who can hinder you."
" Upon my honour, madam," cries Sophia, " your
ladyship injures me. I will never run away with any
man ; nor will I ever marry contrary to my father's
inclinations."
"Well, Miss Western," said the lady, "if you are
not in a humour to see company this morning, you may
retire to your own apartment ; for I am not frightened
at his lordship, and must send for him up into my
dressing-room."
Sophia thanked her ladyship, and withdrew ; and
presently afterwards Fellamar was admitted upstairs.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 5 1
CMpt^r i)a.
By ivh'ich it luill appear hoiv dangerous an advocate a lady
is ivhen she applies her eloquence to an ill purpose.
WHEN Lady Bellaston heard the young lord's
scruples, she treated them with the same
disdain with which one of those sages of
the law, called Newgate solicitors, treats the qualms of
conscience in a young witness. " My dear lord," said
she, " you certainly want a cordial. I must send to
Lady Edgely for one of her best drams. Fie upon it !
have more resolution. Are you frightened by the word
rape ? Or are you apprehensive ? Well ! if the
story of Helen was modern, I should think it unnatural.
I mean the behaviour of Paris, not the fondness of the
lady ; for all women love a man of spirit. There is
another story of the Sabine ladies — and that too, I
thank heaven, is very antient. Your lordship, perhaps,
will admire my reading ; but I think Mr Hook tells us,
they made tolerable good wives afterwards. I fancy
few of my married acquaintance were ravished by their
husbands." " Nay, dear Lady Bellaston," cried he,
" don't ridicule me in this manner." *' Why, my good
lord," answered she, " do you think any woman in
England would not laugh at you in her heart, whatever
prudeiy she might wear in her countenance ? You
force me to use a strange kind of language, and to
betray my sex most abominably ; but I am contented
with knowing my intentions are good, and that I am
endeavouring to serve my cousin ; for I think you will
make her a husband notwithstanding this ; or, upon my
soul, I would not even persuade her to fling herself
away upon an empty title. She should not upbraid me
hereafter with having lost a man of spirit ; for that his
enemies allow this poor young fellow to be."
52 THE HISTORY OF
Let those who have had the satisfaction of hearing
reflections of this kind from a wife or a mistress, declare
whether they are at all sweetened by coming from a
female tongue. Certain it is, they sunk deeper into his
lordship than anything which Demosthenes or Cicero
could have said on the occasion.
Lady Bellaston, perceiving she had fired the young
lord's pride, began now, like a true orator, to rouse
other passions to its assistance. " My lord," says she,
in a graver voice, " you will be pleased to remember,
you mentioned this matter to me first ; for I would not
appear to you in the light of one who is endeavouring
to put off my cousin upon you. Fourscore thousand
pounds do not stand in need of an advocate to recom-
mend them." "Nor doth Miss "Western," said he,
" require any recommendation from her fortune ; for,
in my opinion, no woman ever had half her charms."
" Yes, yes, my lord," replied the lady, looking in the
glass, "there have been women with more than half
her charms, I assure you ; not that I need lessen her
on that account : she is a most delicious girl, that's
certain ; and within these few hours she will be in the
arms of one, who surely doth not deserve her, though
I will give him his due, I believe he is truly a man
of spirit."
" I hope so, madam," said my lord ; " though I
must own he doth not deserve her ; for, unless heaven
or your ladyship disappoint me, she shall within that
time be in mine."
" Well spoken, my lord," answered the lady ; " I
promise you no disappointment shall happen from my
side ; and within this week I am convinced I shall call
your lordship my cousin in public."
The remainder of this scene consisted entirely of
raptures, excuses, and compliments, very pleasant to
have heard from the parties ; but rather dull when
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 53
related at second hand. Here, therefore, we shall put
an end to this dialogue, and hasten to the fatal hour
when everything was prepared tor the destruction of
poor Sophia.
But this being the most tragical matter in our whole
history, we shall treat it in a chapter by itself.
Containing some matters ivhich may affect^ and others
which may surprise,, the reader^
THE clock had now struck seven, and poor Sophia,
alone and melancholy, sat reading a tragedy.
It was the Fatal Marriage ; and she was now
come to that part where the poor distrest Isabella dis-
poses of her wedding-ring.
Here the book dropt from her hand, and a shower
of tears ran down into her bosom. In this situation
she had continued a minute, when the door opened,
and in came Lord Fellamar. Sophia started from her
chair at his entrance ; and his lordship advancing for-
wards, and making a low bow, said, " I am afraid.
Miss Western, I break in upon you abruptly." " In-
deed, my lord," says she, " I must own myself a little
surprized at this unexpected visit." " If this visit be
unexpected, madam," answered Lord Fellamar, "my
eyes must have been very faithless interpreters of my
heart, when last I had the honour of seeing you ; for
surely you could not otherwise have hoped to detain
my heart in your possession, without receiving a visit
from its owner." Sophia, confused as she was, answered
this bombast (and very properly I think) with a look
of inconceivable disdain. My lord then made another
and a longer speech of the same sort. Upon which
54
THE HISTORY OF
Sophia, trembling, said, "Am I really to conceive
your lordship to be out of your senses ? Sure, my
lord, there is no other excuse for such behaviour."
" I am, indeed, madam, in the situation you suppose,"
cries his lordship ; " and sure you will pardon the
effects of a frenzy vi^hich you yourself have occasioned ;
for love hath so totally deprived me of reason, that I
am scarce accountable for any of my actions." " Upon
my word, my lord," said Sophia, " I neither under-
stand your words nor your behaviour." " SuiFer me
then, madam," cries he, " at your feet to explain both,
by laying open my soul to you, and declaring that I doat
on you to the highest degree of distraction. O most ador-
able, most divine creature ! what language can express
the sentiments of my heart ? " "I do assui'e you, my
lord," said Sophia, " I shall not stay to hear any more
of this." " Do not," cries he, " think of leaving me
thus cruelly ; could you know half the torments which
I feel, that tender bosom must pity what those eyes
have caused." Then fetching a deep sigh, and laying
hold of her hand, he ran on for some minutes in a
strain which would be little more pleasing to the reader
than it was to the lady ; and at last concluded with a
declaration, " That if he was master of the world,
he would lay it at her feet." Sophia then, forcibly
pulling away her hand from his, answered with much
spirit, " I promise you, sir, your world and its master
I should spurn from me with equal contempt." She
then offered to go ; and Lord Fellamar, again laying
hold of her hand, said, " Pardon me, my beloved
angel, freedoms which nothing but despair could have
tempted me to take. Believe me, could I have had
any hope that my title and fortune, neither of them in-
considerable, unless when compared with your worth,
would have been accepted, I had, in the humblest
manner, presented them to your acceptance. But
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 55
I cannot lose you. — By heaven, I will sooner part
with my soul ! — You are, you must, you shall be only
mine." " My lord," says she, " I intreat you to
desist from a vain pursuit ; for, upon my honour, I
will never hear you on this subject. Let go my
hand, my lord ; for I am resolved to go from you
this moment ; nor will I ever see you more." " Then,
madam," cries his lordship, " T must make the best use
of this moment ; for I cannot live, nor will I live with-
out you." " What do you mean, my lord ? " said
Sophia ; " I will raise the family." " I have no fear,
madam," answered he, " but of losing you, and that I
am resolved to prevent, the only way which despair
points to me." — He then caught her in his arms :
upon which she screamed so loud, that she must have
alarmed some one to her assistance, had not Lady Bel-
laston taken care to remove all ears.
But a more lucky circumstance happened for poor
Sophia ; another noise now broke forth, which almost
drowned her cries ; for now the whole house rang
with, " Where is she ? D — n me, I'll unkennel her
this instant. Show me her chamber, I say. Where
is my daughter ? I know she's in the house, and I'll
see her if she's above-ground. Show me where she
is." — At which last words the door flew open, and
in came Squire Western, with his parson and a set of
myrmidons at his heels.
How miserable must have been the condition of poor
Sophia, when the enraged voice of her father was wel-
come to her ears ! Welcome indeed it was, and luckily
did he come ; for it was the only accident upon earth
which could have preserved the peace of her mind from
being for ever destroyed.
Sophia, notwithstanding her fright, presently knew
her father's voice ; and his lordship, notwithstanding
his passion, knew the voice of reason, which peremp-
56 THE HISTORY OF
torily assured him, it was not now a time for the per-
petration of his villany. Hearing, therefore, the voice
approach, and hearing Hkewise whose it was (for as
the squire more than once roared forth the word
daughter, so Sophia, in the midst of her stioiggling,
cried out upon her father), he thought proper to re-
linquish his prey, having only disordered her handker-
chief, and with his rude lips committed violence on her
lovely neck.
If the reader's imagination doth not assist me, I
shall never be able to describe the situation of these
two persons when Western came into the room.
Sophia tottered into a chair, where she sat disordered,
pale, breathless, bursting with indignation at Lord
Fellamar ; affrighted, and yet more rejoiced, at the
arrival of her father.
His lordship sat down near her, with the bag of his
wig hanging over one of his shoulders, the rest of his
dress being somewhat disordered, and rather a greater
proportion of linen than is usual appearing at his bosom.
As to the rest, he was amazed, affrighted, vexed, and
ashamed.
As to Squire Western, he happened at this time to
be overtaken by an enemy, which very frequently pur-
sues, and seldom fails to oveitake, most of the country
gentlemen in this kingdom. He was, literally speak-
ing, drunk ; which circumstance, together with his
natural impetuosity, could produce no other effect
than his running immediately up to his daughter,
upon whom he fell foul with his tongue in the most
inveterate manner ; nay, he had probably committed
violence with his hands, had not the parson inter-
posed, saying, " For heaven's sake, sir, animadvert
that you are in the house of a great lady. Let me
beg you to mitigate your wrath ; it should minister a
fulness of satisfaction that you have found your daughter ;
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 57
for as to revenge, it belongeth not unto us. I dis-
cern great contrition in the countenance of the young
lady. I stand assured, if you will forgive her, she will
repent her of all past offences, and return unto her
duty."
The strength of the parson's arms had at first been
of more service than the strength of his rhetoric.
However, his last words wrought some effect, and the
squire answered, " I'll forgee her if she wull ha un.
If wot ha un, Sophy, I'll forgee thee all. Why dost
unt speak ? Shat ha un ! d — n me, shat ha un !
Why dost unt answer ? Was ever such a stubborn
tuoad ? "
" Let me intreat you, sir, to be a little more mode-
rate," said the parson ; " you frighten the young lady
so, that you deprive her of all power of utterance."
" Power of mine a ," answered the squire.
" You take her part then, you do ? A pretty parson,
truly, to side with an undutiful child ! Yes, yes, I
will gee you a living with a pox. I'll gee un to the
devil sooner."
" I humbly crave your pardon," said the parson ; " I
assure your worship I meant no such matter."
My Lady Bellaston now entered the room, and came
up to the squire, who no sooner saw her, than, resolv-
ing to follow the instructions of his sister, he made her
a very civil bow, in the rural manner, and paid her
some of his best compliments. He then immediately
proceeded to his complaints, and said, " There, my
lady cousin ; there stands the most undutiful child in
the world ; she hankers after a beggarly rascal, and
won't marry one of the greatest matches in all England,
that we have provided for her."
" Indeed, cousin Western," answered the lady, " I
am persuaded you wrong my cousin. I am sure she
hath a better understanding. I am convinced she will
58 THE HISTORY OF
not refuse what she must be sensible is so much to her
advantage."
This was a wilful mistake in Lady Bellaston, for she
well knew whom Mr Western meant ; though perhaps
she thought he would easily be reconciled to his lord-
ship's proposals.
" Do you hear there," quoth the squire, " what her
ladyship says ? All your family are for the match.
Come, Sophy, be a good girl, and be dutiful, and make
your father happy."
" If my death will make you happy, sir," answered
Sophia, " you will shortly be so."
" It's a lye, Sophy ; it's a d — n'd lye, and you know
it," said the squire.
" Indeed, Miss Western," said Lady Bellaston,
" you injure your father ; he hath nothing in view but
your interest in this match ; and I and all your friends
must acknowledge the highest honoui" done to your
family in the proposal."
" Ay, all of us," quoth the squire ; " nay, it was no
proposal of mine. She knows it was her aunt proposed
it to me first. — Come, Sophy, once more let me beg
you to be a good girl, and gee me your consent before
your cousin."
" Let me give him your hand, cousin," said the
lady. " It is the fashion now-a-days to dispense with
time and long courtships."
" Pugh ! " said the squire, " what signifies time ;
won't they have time enough to court afterwards ?
People may court very well after they have been a-bed
together."
As Lord Fellamar was very well assured that he
was meant by Lady Bellaston, so, never having heard
nor suspected a word of Blifil, he made no doubt of
his being meant by the father. Coming up, therefore,
to the squire, he said, " Though I have not the honour,
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 59
sir, of being personally known to you, yet, as I find I
have the happiness to have my proposals accepted, let
me intercede, sir, in behalf of the young lady, that she
may not be more solicited at this time."
" You intercede, sir ! " said the squire ; " why, who
the devil are you ? "
" Sir, I am Lord Fellamar," answered he, " and am
the happy man whom I hope you have done the honour
of accepting for a son-in-law."
" You are a son of a b ," replied the squire,
" for all your laced coat. You my son-in-law, and be
d — n'd to you ! "
" I shall take more from you, sir, than from any
man," answered the lord ; " but I must inform you
that I am not used to hear such language without
resentment."
" Resent my a — ," quoth the squire. " Don't think
I am afraid of such a fellow as thee art ! because hast
got a spit there dangling at thy side. Lay by your
spit, and I'll give thee enough of meddling with what
doth not belong to thee. I'll teach you to father-in-
law me. I'll lick thy jacket."
" It's very well, sir," said my lord, " I shall make
no disturbance before the ladies. I am very well
satisfied. Your humble servant, sii- ; Lady Bellaston,
your most obedient."
His lordship was no sooner gone, than Lady Bellas-
ton, coming up to Mr Western, said, " Bless me, sir,
what have you done ? You know not whom you have
affronted ; he is a nobleman of the first rank and for-
tune, and yesterday made proposals to your daughter ;
and such as I am sure you must accept with the highest
pleasure."
"Answer for yourself, lady cousin," said the squire,
" I will have nothing to do with any of your lords. My
daughter shall have an honest country gentleman ; \
6o THE HISTORY OF
have pitched upon one for her — and she shall ha' un.
— I am sorry for the trouble she hath given your lady-
ship with all my heart." Lady Bellaston made a civil
speech upon the word trouble ; to which the squire
answered — " Why, that's kind — and I would do as
much for your ladyship. To be sure relations should
do for one another. So I wish your ladyship a good
night. — Come, madam, you must go along with me
by fair means, or I'll have you carried down to the
coach."
Sophia said she would attend him without force ;
but begged to go in a chair, for she said she should not
be able to ride any other way.
" Prithee," cries the squire, " wout unt persuade me
canst not ride in a coach, wouldst ? That's a pretty
thing surely ! No, no, I'll never let thee out of my
sight any more till art married, that I promise thee."
Sophia told him, she saw he was resolved to break her
heart. " O break thy heart and be d — n'd," quoth
he, " if a good husband will break it. I don't value
a brass varden, not a halfpenny, of any undutiful b —
upon earth." He then took violent hold of her hand;
upon which the parson once more interfered, begging
him to use gentle methods. At that the squire thundered
out a curse, and bid the parson hold his tongue, saying,
" At'nt in pulpit now ? when art a got up there I never
mind what dost say ; but I won't be priest-ridden, nor
taught how to behave myself by thee. I wish your
ladyship a good-night. Come along, Sophy ; be a
good girl, and all shall be well. Shat ha' un, d — n
me, shat ha' un ! "
Mrs Honour appeared below-stairs, and with a low
curtesy to the squire offered to attend her mistress ; but
he pushed her away, saying, " Hold, madam, hold, you
come no more near my house." " And will you take
my maid away from me ? " said Sophia. " Yes, in-
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 6 1
deed, madam, will I," cries the squire : " you need not
fear being without a servant ; I will get you another
maid, and a better maid than this, who, I'd lay five
pounds to a crown, is no more a maid than my grannum.
No, no, Sophy, she shall contrive no more escapes, I
promise you." He then packed up his daughter and
the parson into the hackney coach, after which he
mounted himself, and ordered it to drive to his lodg-
ings. In the way thither he suffered Sophia to be
quiet, and entertained himself with reading a lecture to
the parson on good manners, and a proper behaviour to
his betters.
It is possible he might not so easily have carried off
his daughter from Lady Bellaston, had that good lady
desired to have detained her ; but, in reality, she was
not a little pleased with the confinement into which
Sophia was going ; and as her project with Lord
Fellamar had failed of success, she was well contented
that other violent methods were now going to be used
in favour of another man.
1 Cf)aptcr bi.
By ivhat means the squire came to discover his daughter.
THOUGH the reader, in many histories, is obliged
to digest much more unaccountable appearances
than this of Mr M^'estern, without any satis-
faction at all ; yet, as we dearly love to oblige him
whenever it is in our power, we shall now proceed to
shew by what method the squiie discovered where his
daughter was.
In the third chapter, then, of the preceding book,
we gave a hint (for it is not our custom to unfold at
62 THE HISTORY OF
any time more than is necessary for the occasion) that
Mrs Fitzpatrick, who was very desirous of reconciling
her uncle and aunt Western, thought she had a probable
opportunity, by the service of preserving Sophia from
committing the same crime which had drawn on her-
self the anger of her family. After much deliberation,
therefore, she resolved to inform her aunt Western
where her cousin was, and accordingly she writ the
following letter, which we shall give the reader at
length, for more reasons than one.
" Honoured Madam,
" The occasion of my writing this will perhaps
make a letter of mine agreeable to my dear aunt, for the
sake of one of her nieces, though I have little reason to
hope it will be so on the account of another.
" Without more apology, as I was coming to throw
my unhappy self at your feet, I met, by the strangest
accident in the world, my cousin Sophy, whose history
you are better acquainted with than myself, though,
alas ! I know infinitely too much ; enough indeed to
satisfy me, that unless she is immediately prevented,
she is in danger of running into the same fatal mischief,
which, by foolishly and ignorantly refusing your most
wise and prudent advice, I have unfortunately brought
on myself.
" In short, I have seen the man, nay, I was most
part of yesterday in his company, and a charming young
fellow I promise you he is. By what accident he
came acquainted with me is too tedious to tell you
now ; but I have this morning changed my lodgings
to avoid him, lest he should by my means discover my
cousin ; for he doth not yet know where she is, and
it is adviseable he should not, till my uncle hath secured
her. No time therefore is to be lost ; and I need
only inform you, that she is now with Lady Bellaston,
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 63
whom I have seen, and who hath, I find, a design of
concealing her from her family. You know, madam,
she is a strange woman ; but nothing could misbecome
me more than to presume to give any hint to one of your
great understanding and great knowledge of the world,
besides barely informing you of the matter of fact,
" I hope, madam, the care which I have shewn on
this occasion for the good of my family will recom-
mend me again to the favour of a lady who hath
always exerted so much zeal for the honour and true
interest of us all ; and that it may be a means of
restoring me to your friendship, which hath made so
great a part of my former, and is so necessary to my
future happiness.
« I am,
with the utmost respect,
honoured madam,
your most dutiful obliged niece,
and most obedient humble servant,
Harriet Fitzpatrick."
Mrs Western was now at her brother's house, where
she had resided ever since the flight of Sophia, in order
to administer comfort to the poor squire in his affliction.
Of this comfort, which she doled out to him in daily
portions, we have formerly given a specimen.
She was now standing with her back to the fire,
and, with a pinch of snufF in her hand, was dealing
forth this daily allowance of comfort to the squire,
while he smoaked his afternoon pipe, when she received
the above letter ; which she had no sooner read than
she delivered it to him, saying, " There, sir, there is
an account of your lost sheep. Fortune hath again
restored her to you, and if you will be governed by my
advice, it is possible you may yet preserve her."
The squire had no sooner read the letter than he
64 THE HISTORY OF
leaped from his chair, threw his pipe into the fire, and
gave a loud huzza for joy. He then summoned his
servants, called for his boots, and ordered the Chevalier
and several other horses to be saddled, and that parson
Supple should be immediately sent for. Having done
this, he turned to his sister, caught her in his arms,
and gave her a close embrace, saying, " Zounds ! you
don't seem pleased ; one would imagine you was sorry
I have found the girl."
" Brother," answered she, " the deepest politicians,
who see to the bottom, discover often a very different
aspect of affairs, from what swims on the surface. It
is true, indeed, things do look rather less desperate
than they did formerly in Holland, when Lewis the
Fourteenth was at the gates of Amsterdam ; but there
is a delicacy required in this matter, which you will
pardon me, brother, if I suspect you want. There is
a decorum to be used with a woman of figure, such as
Lady Bellaston, brother, which requires a knowledge
of the world, superior, I am afraid, to yours."
" Sister," cries the squire, " I know you have no
opinion of my parts ; but I'll shew you on this occa-
sion who is a fool. Knowledge, quotha ! I have not
been in the country so long without having some know-
ledge of warrants and the law of the land. I know I
may take my own wherever I can find it. Shew me
my own daughter, and if I don't know how to come at
her, I'll suffer you to call me a fool as long as I live.
There be justices of peace in London, as well as in
other places."
" I protest," cries she, " you make me tremble for
the event of this matter, which, if you will proceed by
my advice, you may bring to so good an issue. Do
you really imagine, brother, that the house of a woman
of figure is to be attacked by warrants and brutal justices
of the peace ? I will inform you how to proceed. As
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 65
soon as you arrive in town, and have got yourself into
a decent dress (for indeed, brother, you have none at
present fit to appear in), you must send your compli-
ments to Lady Bellaston, and desire leave to wait on
her. When you are admitted to her presence, as you
certainly will be, and have told her your story, and
have made proper use of my name (for I think you
just know one another only by sight, though you are
relations), I am confident she will withdraw her pro-
tection from my niece, who hath certainly imposed
upon her. This is the only method. — Justices of
peace, indeed ! do you imagine any such event can
arrive to a woman of figure in a civilised nation ? "
"D — n their figures," cries the squire; "a pretty
civilised nation, truly, where women are above the
law. And what must I stand sending a parcel of
compliments to a confounded whore, that keeps away
a daughter from her own natural father ? I tell you,
sister, I am not so ignorant as you think me 1
know you would have women above the law, but it is
all a lye ; I heard his lordship say at size, that no one
is above the law. But this of yours is Hanover law,
I suppose."
" Mr Western," said she, " I think you daily im-
prove in ignorance. 1 protest you are grown an
arrant bear."
"No more a bear than yourself, sister Western,"
said the squire. — " Pox ! you may talk of your civility
an you will, I am sure you never shew any to me. I
am no bear, no, nor no dog neither, though I know
somebody, that is something that begins with a b ; but
pox ! I will show you I have got more good manners
than some folks."
" Mr Western," answered the lady, " you may say
what you please, ^V vous mesprise de tout mon caur. I
shall not therefore be angry. Besides, as my cousin,
IV. E
66 THE HISTORY OF
with that odious Irish name, justly says, I have that
regard for the honour and true interest of my family,
and that concern for my niece, who is a part of it,
that I have resolved to go to town myself upon this
occasion ; for indeed, indeed, brother, you are not a fit
minister to be employed at a polite court. — Greenland
— Greenland should always be the scene of the tra-
montane negociation."
" I thank Heaven," cries the squire, " I don't
understand you now. You are got to your Hanoverian
linguo. However, I'll shew you I scorn to be behind-
hand in civility with you ; and as you are not angry
for what I have said, so I am not angry for what you
have said. Indeed I have always thought it a folly
for relations to quarrel ; and if they do now and then
give a hasty word, why, people should give and take j
for my part, I never bear malice ; and I take it very
kind of you to go up to London ; for I never was
there but twice in my life, and then I did not stay
above a fortnight at a time, and to be sure I can't be
expected to know much of the streets and the folks in
that time. I never denied that you know'd all these
matters better than I. For me to dispute that would
be all as one as for you to dispute the management of a
pack of dogs, or the finding a hare sitting, with me."
— "Which I promise you," says she, " I never will."
— " Well, and I promise you," returned he, " that I
never will dispute the t'other."
Here then a league was struck (to borrow a phrase
from the lady) between the contending parties ; and
now the parson arriving, and the horses being ready,
the squire departed, having promised his sister to
follow her advice, and she prepared to follow him
the next day.
But having communicated these matters to the parson
on the road, they both agreed that the prescribed
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 67
formalities might very well be dispensed with ; and
the squire, having changed his mind, proceeded in
the manner we have already seen.
In nvhich various misfortunes befel poor Jones.
AFFAIRS were in the aforesaid situation when
Mrs Honour arrived at Mrs Miller's, and
called Jones out from the company, as we
have before seen, with whom, when she found herself
alone, she began as follows : —
" O, my dear sir ! how shall I get spirits to tell
you ; you are undone, sir, and my poor lady's undone,
and I am undone." "Hath anything happened to
Sophia ? " cries Jones, staring like a madman. " All
that is bad," cries Honour : " Oh, I shall never get
such another lady ! Oh that I should ever live to
see this day ! " At these words Jones turned pale as
ashes, trembled, and stammered ; but Honour went
on — " O ! Mr Jones, I have lost my lady for ever."
" How ? what ! for Heaven's sake, tell me. O, my
dear Sophia ! " " You may well call her so," said
Honour ; " she was the dearest lady to me. I shall
never have such another place." "D — n your
place ! " cries Jones ; " where is — what — what is be-
come of my Sophia ? " " Ay, to be sure," cries
she, "servants may be d — n'd. It signifies nothing
what becomes of them, though they are turned away,
and ruined ever so much. To be sure they are
not flesh and blood like other people. No, to be
sure, it signifies nothing what becomes of them."
" If you have any pity, any compassion," cries Jones,
" I beg you will instantly tell me what hath happened
68 THE HISTORY OF
to Sophia ? " " To be sure, I have more pity for
yon than you have for me," answered Honour ;
" I don't d — n you because you have lost the
sweetest lady in the world. To be sure you are
worthy to be pitied, and I am worthy to be pitied
too : for, to be sure, if ever there was a good mis-
tress " " What hath happened ? " cries Jones, in
almost a raving fit. " What ? — What ? " said Honour :
" Why, the worst that could have happened both for
you and for me. — Her father is come to town, and hath
carried her away from us both." Here Jones fell on his
knees in thanksgiving that it was no worse. " No worse ! "
repeated Honour- ; " what could be worse for either of
us ? He carried her off, swearing she should marry
Mr Blifil ; that's for youi- comfort ; and, for poor me,
I am tui-ned out of doors." " Indeed, Mrs Honour,"
answered Jones, " you frightened me out of my wits.
I imagined some most dreadful sudden accident had
happened to Sophia ; something, compared to which,
even seeing her married to Blifil would be a trifle ; but
while there is life there are hopes, my dear Honour.
Women in this land of liberty, cannot be married by
actual brutal force." "To be sure, sir," said she,
" that's true. There may be some hopes for you ; but
alack-a-day ! what hopes are there for poor me ? And
to be sure, sir, you must be sensible I suffer all this
upon your account. All the quarrel the squire hath to
me is for taking your part, as I have done, against Mr
Blifil." "Indeed, Mrs Honour," answered he, "I
am sensible of my obligations to you, and will leave
nothing in my power undone to make you amends."
"Alas! sir," said she, "what can make a servant
amends for the loss of one place but the getting an-
other altogether as good ? " " Do not despair, Mrs
Honour," said Jones, " I hope to reinstate you again
in the same." " Alack-a-day, sir," said she, " how
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 69
can I flatter myself with such hopes when I know it is
a thing impossible ? for the squire is so set against me :
and yet, if you should ever have my lady, as to be sure
I now hopes heartily you will ; for you are a generous,
good-natured gentleman ; and I am sure you loves her,
and to be sure she loves you as dearly as her own soul ;
it is a matter in vain to deny it ; because as why, every-
body, that is in the least acquainted with my lady, must
see it ; for, poor dear lady, she can't dissemble : and
if two people who loves one another a' n't happy, why
who should be so ? Happiness don't always depend
upon what people has ; besides, my lady has enough for
both. To be sure, therefore, as one may say, it would
be all the pity in the world to keep two such loviers
asunder ; nay, I am convinced, for my part, you will
meet together at last ; for, if it is to be, there is no
preventing it. If a marriage is made in heaven, all the
justices of peace upon earth can't break it off. To be
sure I wishes that parson Supple had but a little more
spirit, to tell the squire of his wickedness in endeavour-
ing to force his daughter contrary to her liking ; but
then his whole dependance is on the squire ; and so the
poor gentleman, though he is a very religious good sort
of man, and talks of the badness of such doings behind
the squire's back, yet he dares not say his soul is his
own to his face. To be sure I never saw him make
so bold as just now ; I was afeard the squire would
have struck him. I would not have your honour be
melancholy, sir, nor despair ; things may go better, as
long as you are sure of my lady, and that I am certain
you may be ; for she never will be brought to consent
to marry any other man. Indeed I am terribly afeared
the squire will do her a mischief in his passion, for he
is a prodigious passionate gentleman ; and I am afeared
too the poor lady will be brought to break her heart,
for she is as tender-hearted as a chicken. It is pity.
70 THE HISTORY OF
methinks, she had not a little of my courage. If I was
in love with a young man, and my father offered to
lock me up, I'd tear his eyes out but I'd come at him ;
but then there's a great fortune in the case, which it is
in her father's power either to give her or not ; that,
to be sure, may make some difference."
Whether Jones gave strict attention to all the fore-
going harangue, or whether it was for want of any
vacancy in the discourse, I cannot determine ; but he
never once attempted to answer, nor did she once stop
till Partridge came ranning into the room, and informed
him that the great lady was upon the stairs.
Nothing could equal the dilemma to which Jones
was now reduced. Honour knew nothing of any ac-
quaintance that subsisted between him and Lady
Bellaston, and she was almost the last person in the
world to whom he would have communicated it. In
this hurry and distress, he took (as is common
enough) the worst course, and, instead of exposing
her to the lady, which would have been of little conse-
quence, he chose to expose the lady to her ; he there-
fore resolved to hide Honour, whom he had but just time
to convey behind the bed, and to draw the curtains.
The hurry in which Jones had been all day engaged
on account of his poor landlady and her family, the
terrors occasioned by Mrs Honour, and the confusion
into which he was thrown by the sudden arrival of
Lady Bellaston, had altogether driven former thoughts
out of his head ; so that it never once occurred to his
memory to act the part of a sick man ; which, indeed,
neither the gaiety of his dress, nor the freshness of his
countenance, would have at all supported.
He received her ladyship therefore rather agreeably
to her desires than to her expectations, with all the good
humour he could muster in his countenance, and without
any real or affected appearance of the least disorder.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 7 1
Lady Bellaston no sooner entered the room, than
she squatted herself down on the bed : " So, my dear
Jones," said she, "you find nothing can detain me
long from you. Perhaps I ought to be angry with
you, that I have neither seen nor heard from you all
day ; for I perceive your distemper would have suffered
you to come abroad : nay, I suppose you have not sat
in your chamber all day drest up like a fine lady to see
company after a lying-in ; but, however, don't think I
intend to scold you; for I never will give you an
excuse for the cold behaviour of a husband, by putting
on the ill-humour of a wife."
« Nay, Lady Bellaston," said Jones, " I am sure
your ladyship will not upbraid me with neglect of
duty, when I only waited for orders. Who, my dear
creature, hath reason to complain ? Who missed an
appointment last night, and left an unhappy man to
expect, and wish, and sigh, and languish ? "
" Do not mention it, my dear Mr Jones," cried she.
" If you knew the occasion, you would pity me. In
short, it is impossible to conceive what women of
condition are obliged to suffer from the impertinence
of fools, in order to keep up the farce of the world.
I am glad, however, all your languishing and wishing
have done you no harm ; for you never looked better
in your life. Upon my faith ! Jones, you might at this
instant sit for the picture of Adonis."
There are certain words of provocation which men
of honour hold can properly be answered only by a
blow. Among lovers possibly there may be some
expressions which can be answered only by a kiss.
Now the compliment which Lady Bellaston now made
Jones seems to be of this kind, especially as it was
attended with a look, in which the lady conveyed
more soft ideas than it was possible to express with her
tongue.
72 THE HISTORY OF
Jones was certainly at this instant in one of the
most disagreeable and distressed situations imaginable ;
for, to carry on the comparison we made use of before,
though the provocation was given by the lady, Jones
could not receive satisfaction, nor so much as offer to
ask it, in the presence of a third person ; seconds in
this kind of duels not being according to the law of
arms. As this objection did not occur to Lady
Bellaston, who was ignorant of any other woman
being there but herself, she waited some time in great
astonishment for an answer from Jones, who, conscious
of the ridiculous figure he made, stood at a distance,
and, not daring to give the proper answer, gave none
at all. Nothing can be imagined more comic, nor yet
more tragical, than this scene would have been if
it had lasted much longer. The lady had already
changed colour two or three times ; had got up from
the bed and sat down again, while Jones was wishing
the ground to sink under him, or the house to fall on
his head, when an odd accident freed him from an
embarrassment out of which neither the eloquence of a
Cicero, nor the politics of a Machiavel, could have
delivered him, without utter disgrace.
This was no other than the arrival of young
Nightingale, dead di'unk ; or rather in that state of
drunkenness which deprives men of the use of their
reason without depriving them of the use of their
limbs.
Mrs Miller and her daughters were in bed, and
Partridge was smoaking his pipe by the kitchen fire ;
so that he arrived at Mr Jones's chamber-door without
any interruption. This he burst open, and was enter-
ing without any ceremony, when Jones started from
his seat and ran to oppose him, which he did so
effectually, that Nightingale never came far enough
within the door to see who was sitting on the bed.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 73
Nightingale had in reaHty mistaken Jones's apart-
ment for that in which himself had lodged ; he there-
fore strongly insisted on coming in, often swearing that
he would not be kept from his own bed. Jones,
however, prevailed over him, and delivered him into
the hands of Partridge, whom the noise on the stairs
soon summoned to his master's assistance.
And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return
to his own apartment, where at the very instant of his
entrance he heard Lady Bellaston venting an exclama-
tion, though not a very loud one ; and at the same
time saw her flinging herself into a chair in a vast
agitation, which in a lady of a tender constitution would
have been an hysteric fit.
In reality the lady, frightened with the struggle
between the two men, of which she did not know
what would be the issue, as she heard Nightingale
swear many oaths he would come to his own bed,
attempted to retire to her known place of hiding,
which to her great confusion she found already occupied
by another.
" Is this usage to be borne, Mr Jones ? " cries the
lady. — " Basest of men ? ^What wretch is this to
whom you have exposed me ? " " Wretch ! " cries
Honour, bursting in a violent rage from her place of
concealment "Marry come up! Wretch for-
sooth ? as poor a wretch as I am, I am honest ;
this is more than some folks who are richer can say."
Jones, instead of applying himself directly to take
off the edge of Mrs Honour's resentment, as a more
experienced gallant would have done, fell to cursing
his stars, and lamenting himself as the most unfortunate
man in the world ; and presently after, addressing him-
self to Lady Bellaston, he fell to some very absurd
protestations of innocence. By this time the lady,
having recovered the use of her reason, which she had
74 THE HISTORY OF
as ready as any woman in the world, especially on such
occasions, calmly replied ; " Sir, you need make no
apologies, I see now who the person is ; I did not at
first know Mrs Honour : but now I do, I can suspect
nothing wrong between her and you ; and I am sure
she is a woman of too good sense to put any wrong
constructions upon my visit to you ; I have been always
her friend, and it may be in my power to be much more
hereafter."
Mrs Honour was altogether as placable as she was
passionate. Hearing, therefore. Lady Bellaston assume
the soft tone, she likewise softened hers. " I'm
sure, madam," says she, " I have been always ready to
acknowledge your ladyship's friendships to me ; sui'e I
never had so good a friend as your ladyship and to
be sure, now I see it is your ladyship that I spoke to,
I could almost bite my tongue off for very mad. —
I constructions upon your ladyship — to be sure it doth
not become a servant as I am to think about such a
great lady — I mean I was a servant : for indeed I am
nobody's servant now, the more miserable wretch is
me. — I have lost the best mistress " Here
Honour thought fit to produce a shower of tears. —
"Don't cry, child," says the good lady; "ways
perhaps may be found to make you amends. Come
to me to-morrow morning." She then took up her
fan which lay on the ground, and without even looking
at Jones walked very majestically out of the room ;
there being a kind of dignity in the impudence of women
of quality, which their inferiors vainly aspire to attain
to in circumstances of this nature.
Jones followed her downstaii-s, often offering her his
hand, which she absolutely refused him, and got into her
chair without taking any notice of him as he stood bowing
before her.
At his return upstairs, a long dialogue past between
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 75
him and Mis Honour, while she was adjusting herself
after the discomposure she had undergone. The sub-
ject of this was his infidelity to her young lady ; on
which she enlarged with great bitterness ; but Jones at
last found means to reconcile her, and not only so, but
to obtain a promise of most inviolable secrecy, and that
she would the next morning endeavour to find out Sophia,
and bring him a further account of the proceedings of the
squire.
Thus ended this unfortunate adventure to the satis-
faction only of Mrs Honour ; for a secret (as some
of my readers will perhaps acknowledge from ex-
perience) is often a very valuable possession : and
that not only to those who faithfully keep it, but
sometimes to such as whisper it about till it come
to the ears of every one except the ignorant person
who pays for the supposed concealing of what is
publickly known.
Cjjapter )oiiu
Short and sweet.
NOTWITHSTANDING all the obligations she
had received from Jones, Mrs Miller could not
forbear in the morning some gentle remon-
strances for the hurricane which had happened the
preceding night in his chamber. These were, how-
ever, so gentle and so friendly, professing, and indeed
truly, to aim at nothing more than the real good of
Mr Jones himself, that he, far from being offended,
thankfully received the admonition of the good woman,
expressed much concern for what had past, excused it
as well as he could, and promised never more to bring
the same disturbances into the house.
But though Mrs Miller did not refrain from a short
76 THE HISTORY OF
expostulation in private at their first meeting, yet the
occasion of his being summoned downstairs that
morning was of a much more agreeable kind, being
indeed to perform the office of a father to Miss Nancy,
and to give her in wedlock to Mr Nightingale, who
was now ready drest, and full as sober as many of my
readers will think a man ought to be who receives a
wife in so imprudent a manner.
And here perhaps it may be proper to account for
the escape which this young gentleman had made from
his uncle, and for his appearance in the condition in
which we have seen him the night before.
Now when the uncle had arrived at his lodgings
with his nephew, partly to indulge his own inclinations
(for he dearly loved his bottle), and partly to disqualify
his nephew from the immediate execution of his pur-
pose, he ordered wine to be set on the table ; with
which he so briskly plyed the young gentleman, that
this latter, who, though not much used to drinking,
did not detest it so as to be guilty of disobedience or
want of complacence by refusing, was soon completely
finished.
Just as the uncle had obtained this victory, and was
preparing a bed for his nephew, a messenger arrived
with a piece of news, which so entirely disconcerted
and shocked him, that he in a moment lost all con-
sideration for his nephew, and his whole mind became
entirely taken up with his own concerns.
This sudden and afflicting news was no less than
that his daughter had taken the opportunity of almost
the first moment of his absence, and had gone off
with a neighbouring young clergyman ; against whom,
though her father could have had but one objection,
namely, that he was worth nothing, yet she had never
thought proper to communicate her amour even to that
father ; and so artfully had she managed, that it had
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 77
never been once suspected by any, till now that it was
consummated.
Old Mr Nightingale no sooner received this account,
than in the utmost confusion he ordered a post-chaise
to be instantly got ready, and, having recommended his
nephew to the care of a servant, he directly left the
house, scarce knowing what he did, nor whither he
went.
The uncle thus departed, when the servant came to
attend the nephew to bed, had waked him for that
purpose, and had at last made him sensible that his
uncle was gone, he, instead of accepting the kind offices
tendered him, insisted on a chair being called; with
this the servant, who had received no strict orders to
the contrary, readily complied; and, thus being con-
ducted back to the house of Mrs Miller, he had
staggered up to Mr Jones's chamber, as hath been
before recounted.
This bar of the uncle being now removed (though
young Nightingale knew not as yet in what manner),
and all parties being quickly ready, the mother, Mr
Jones, Mr Nightingale, and his love, stept into a
hackney-coach, which conveyed them to Doctors'
Commons ; where Miss Nancy was, in vulgar lan-
guage, soon made an honest woman, and the poor
mother became, in the purest sense of the word, one
of the happiest of all human beings.
And now Mr Jones, having seen his good offices to
that poor woman and her family brought to a happy
conclusion, began to apply himself to his own concerns ;
but here, lest many of my readers should censure his
folly for thus troubling himself with the affairs of
others, and lest some few should think he acted more
disinterestedly than indeed he did, we think proper to
assure our reader, that he was so far from being un-
concerned in this matter, that he had indeed a very
78 THE HISTORY OF
considerable interest in bringing it to that final con-
summation.
To explain this seeming paradox at once, he was
one who could truly say with him in Terence, Homo
sum : human't nihil a me al'ienum puto. He was never
an indifferent spectator of the misery or happiness of
any one ; and he felt either the one or the other in
great proportion as he himself contributed to either.
He could not, therefore, be the insti-ument of raising
a whole family from the lowest state of wretchedness to
the highest pitch of joy without conveying great feli-
city to himself; more perhaps than worldly men often
purchase to themselves by undergoing the most severe
labour, and often by v/ading through the deepest iniquity.
Those readers who are of the same complexion with
him will perhaps think this short chapter contains
abundance of matter ; while others may probably wish,
short as it is, that it had been totally spared as im-
pertinent to the main design, which I suppose they
conclude is to bring Mr Jones to the gallows, or, if
possible, to a more deplorable catastrophe.
CMpter ij:.
Containing love-letters of several sorts.
MR Jones, at his return home, found the following
letters lying on his table, which he luckily
opened in the order they were sent.
LETTER I.
" Surely I am under some strange infatuation ; I
cannot keep my resolutions a moment, however strongly
made or justly founded. Last night I resolved never
to see you more ; this morning I am willing to hear if
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 79
you can, as you say, clear up this affair. And yet I
know that to be impossible. I have said everything to
myself which you can invent. Perhaps not. Perhaps
your invention is stronger. Come to me, therefore, the
moment you receive this. If you can forge an excuse
I almost promise you to believe it. Betrayed too
I will think no more. Come to me directly. •
This is the third letter I have writ, the two former
are burnt 1 am almost inclined to burn this too
1 wish I may preserve my senses. Come to
me presently."
LETTER II.
" If you ever expect to be forgiven, or even suffered
within my doors, come to me this instant."
LETTER HI.
" I now find you was not at home when my notes
came to your lodgings. The moment you receive this
let me see you ; 1 shall not stir out ; nor shall any-
body be let in but yourself. Sure nothing can detain
you long."
Jones had just read over these three billets when
Mr Nightingale came into the room. " Well, Tom,"
said he, "any news from Lady Bellaston, after last
night's adventuie ? " (for it was now no secret to any
one in that house who the lady was). *'The Lady
Bellaston ? " answered Jones very gravely. " Nay,
dear Tom," cries Nightingale, " don't be so reserved
to your friends. Though I was too drunk to see her
last night, I saw her at the masquerade. Do you
thiuk I am ignorant who the queen of the fairies
is ? " " And did you really then know the lady at
the masquerade?" said Jones. "Yes, upon my soul,
did I," said Nightingale, " and have given you twenty
8o THE HISTORY OF
hints of it since, though you seemed always so tender
on that point, that I would not speak plainly. I fancy,
my friend, by your extreme nicety in this matter, you
are not so well acquainted with the character of the
lady as with her person. Don't be angry, Tom, but
upon my honour, you are not the first young fellow
she hath debauched. Her reputation is in no danger,
believe me."
Though Jones had no reason to imagine the lady to
have been of the vestal kind when his amour began ;
yet, as he was thoroughly ignorant of the town, and
had very little acquaintance in it, he had no knowledge
of that character which is vulgarly called a demirep ;
that is to say, a woman who intrigues with every man
she likes, under the name and appearance of virtue ;
and who, though some over-nice ladies will not be seen
with her, is visited (as they term it) by the whole town,
in short, whom everybody knows to be what nobody
calls her.
When he found, therefore, that Nightingale was
perfectly acquainted with his intrigue, and began to
suspect that so scrupulous a delicacy as he had hitherto
observed was not quite necessary on the occasion, he
gave a latitude to his friend's tongue, and desired him
to speak plainly what he knew, or had ever heard ot
the lady.
Nightingale, who, in many other instances, was rather
too effeminate in his disposition, had a pretty strong in-
clination to tittle-tattle. He had no sooner, therefore,
received a full liberty of speaking from Jones, than he
entered upon a long narrative concerning the lady ;
which, as it contained many particulars highly to her
dishonour, we have too great a tenderness for all women
of condition to repeat. We would cautiously avoid
giving an opportunity to the future commentators on
our works, of making any malicious application and of
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 8l
forcing us to be, against our will, the author of scandal,
which never entered into our head.
Jones, having very attentively heard all that Nightin-
gale had to say, fetched a deep sigh ; which the other,
observing, cried, " Heyday ! why, thou art not in love,
I hope ! Had I imagined my stories would have
affected you, I promise you should never have heard
them." " O my dear friend ! " cries Jones, " I am
so entangled with this woman, that I know not how to
extricate myself. In love, indeed ! no, my friend, but
I am under obligations to her, and very great ones.
Since you know so much, I will be very explicit with
you. It is owing, perhaps, solely to her, that I have
not, before this, wanted a bit of bread. How can I
possibly desert such a woman ? and yet I must desert
her, or be guilty of the blackest treachery to one who
deserves infinitely better of me than she can ; a woman,
my Nightingale, for whom I have a passion which few
can have an idea of. I am half distracted with doubts
how to act." " And is this other, pray, an honour-
able mistress ? " cries Nightingale. " Honourable ! "
answered Jones ; "no breath ever yet durst sully her
reputation. The sweetest air is not purer, the limpid
stream not clearer, than her honour. She is all over,
both in mind and body, consummate perfection. She
is the most beautiRil creature in the universe : and yet
she is mistress of such noble elevated qualities, that,
though she is never from my thoughts, I scarce ever
think of her beauty but when I see it." — "And can
you, my good friend," cries Nightingale, " with such
an engagement as this upon your hands, hesitate a
moment about quitting such a — " " Hold," said
Jones, " no more abuse of her : I detest the thought
of ingratitude." "Pooh! " answered the other, "you
are not the first upon whom she hath conferred obliga-
tions of this kind. She is remarkably liberal where
IV. F
82 THE HISTORY OF
she likes ; though, let me tell you, her favours are so
prudently bestowed, that they should rather raise a
man's vanity than his gratitude." In short, Nightingale
proceeded so far on this head, and told his friend so
many stories of the lady, which he swore to the truth
of, that he entirely removed all esteem for her from the
breast of Jones ; and his gratitude was lessened in pro-
portion. Indeed, he began to look on all the favours
he had received rather as wages than benefits, which
depreciated not only her, but himself too in his own
conceit, and put him quite out of humour with both.
From this disgust, his mind, by a natui'al transition,
turned towards Sophia ; her virtue, her purity, her love
to him, her sufferings on his account, filled all his
thoughts, and made his commerce with Lady Bellaston
appear still more odious. The result of all was, that,
though his tui'ning himself out of her service, in which
light he now saw his affair with her, would be the loss
of his bread ; yet he determined to quit her, if he could
but find a handsome pretence : which being communi-
cated to his friend, Nightingale considered a little, and
then said, " I have it, my boy ! I have found out a
sure method ; propose marriage to her, and I would
venture hanging upon the success." " Marriage ? " cries
Jones. "Ay, propose marriage," answered Nightingale,
" and she will declare off in a moment. I knew a young
fellow whom she kept formerly, who made the offer to her
in earnest, and was presently turned off for his pains."
Jones declared he could not venture the experiment.
"Perhaps," said he, "she may be less shocked at this
proposal from one man than from another. And if she
should take me at my word, where am I then ? caught
in my own trap, and undone for ever." " No ; " answered
Nightingale, " not if I can give you an expedient by which
you may at any time get out of the trap." " What
expedient can that be ? " replied Jones. " This," answered
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 83
Nightingale, " The young fellow I mentioned, who is
one of the most intimate acquaintances I have in the world,
is so angry with her for some ill offices she hath since done
him, that I am sure he would, without any difficulty, give
you a sight of her letters ; upon which you may decently
break with her ; and declare off before the knot is tyed,
if she should really be willing to tie it, which I am
convinced she will not."
After some hesitation, Jones, upon the strength of this
assurance, consented ; but, as he swore he wanted the
confidence to propose the matter to her face, he wrote
the following letter, which Nightingale dictated : —
" Madam,
" I am extremely concerned, that, by an unfor-
tunate engagement abroad, I should have missed receiving
the honour of your ladyship's commands the moment
they came ; and the delay which I must now suffer of
vindicating myself to your ladyship greatly adds to this
misfortune. O, Lady Bellaston ! what a terror have
I been in for fear your reputation should be exposed by
these perverse accidents ! There is one only way to
seciu'e it. I need not name what that is. Only permit me
to say, that as your honour is as dear to me as my own,
so my sole ambition is to have the glory of laying my
liberty at your feet ; and believe me when I assure
you, I can never be made completely happy without
you generously bestow on me a legal right of calling
you mine for ever. — I am,
madam,
with most profound respect,
your ladyship's most obliged,
obedient, humble servant,
Thomas Jones."
To this she presently returned the following answer :
84 the history of
« Sir,
" When I read over your serious epistle, I could,
from its coldness and formality, have sworn that you
already had the legal right you mention ; nay, that we
had for many years composed that monstrous animal a
husband and wife. Do you really then imagine me a
fool ? or do you fancy yourself capable of so entirely
persuading me out of my senses, that I should deliver
my whole fortune into your power, in order to enable
you to support your pleasures at my expense ? Ai-e
these the proofs of love which I expected ? Is this the
return for ? but I scorn to upbraid you, and am in
great admiration of your profound respect.
" P.S. I am prevented from revising : Perhaps
I have said more than I meant Come to me at
eight this evening."
Jones, by the advice of his privy-council, replied :
" Madam,
" It is impossible to express how much I am
shocked at the suspicion you entertain of me. Can
Lady Bellaston have conferred favours on a man whom
she could believe capable of so base a design ? or can
she treat the most solemn tie of love with contempt ?
Can you imagine, madam, that if the violence of my
passion, in an unguarded moment, overcame the tender-
ness which I have for your honour, I would think ot
indulging myself in the continuance of an intercoui'se
which could not possibly escape long the notice of the
world ; and which, when discovered, must prove so
fatal to your reputation ? If such be youi^ opinion of
me, I must pray for a sudden opportunity of returning
those pecuniary obligations, which I have been so un-
fortunate to receive at your hands ; and for those of a
more tender kind, I shall ever remain, &c." And so
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 85
concluded in the very words with which he had con-
cluded the former letter.
The lady answered as follows :
" I see you are a villain ! and I despise you from
my soul. If you come here I shall not be at home."
Though Jones was well satisfied with his deliverance
from a thraldom which those who have ever experienced
it will, I apprehend, allow to be none of the lightest,
he was not, however, perfectly easy in his mind. There
was in this scheme too much of fallacy to satisfy one
who utterly detested every species of falshood or dis-
honesty : nor would he, indeed, have submitted to put
it in practice, had he not been involved in a distressful
situation, where he was obliged to be guilty of some
dishonour, either to the one lady or the other ; and
surely the reader will allow, that every good principle,
as well as love, pleaded strongly in favour of Sophia.
Nightingale highly exulted in the success of his
stratagem, upon which he received many thanks and
much applause from his friend. He answered, " Dear
Tom, we have conferred very different obligations on
each other. To me you owe the regaining your
liberty ; to you I owe the loss of mine. But if you
are as happy in the one instance as I am in the other,
I promise you we are the two happiest fellows in
England."
The two gentlemen were now summoned down to
dinner, where Mrs Miller, who performed herself the
office of cook, had exerted her best talents to celebrate
the wedding of her daughter. This joyful circumstance
she ascribed principally to the friendly behavioui" of
Jones, her whole soul was fired with gratitude towards
him, and all her looks, words, and actions, were so
busied in expressing it, that her daughter, and even
86 THE HISTORY OF
her new son-in-law, were very little objects of her
consideration.
Dinner was just ended when Mrs Miller received a
letter ; but as we have had letters enow in this chapter,
we shall communicate its contents in our next.
Consisting partly of facts, and partly of observations
upon them.
THE letter then which arrived at the end of the
preceding chapter was from Mr Allworthy,
and the purport of it was, his intention to
come immediately to town, with his nephew Blifil, and
a desire to be accommodated with his usual lodgings,
which were the first floor for himself, and the second
for his nephew.
The chearfulness which had before displayed itself
in the countenance of the poor woman was a little
clouded on this occasion. This news did indeed a
good deal disconcert her. To requite so disinterested
a match with her daughter, by presently turning her
new son-in-law out of doors, appeared to her very
unjustifiable on the one hand ; and on the other, she
could scarce bear the thoughts of making any excuse
to Mr Allworthy, after all the obligations received
from him, for depriving him of lodgings which were
indeed strictly his due ; for that gentleman, in con-
ferring all his numberless benefits on others, acted by
a rule diametrically opposite to what is practised by
most generous people. He contrived, on all occasions,
to hide his beneficence, not only from the world, but
even from the object of it. He constantly used the
words Lend and Pay, instead of Give ; and by every
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 87
Other method he could invent, always lessened with
his tongue the favours he conferred, while he was
heaping them with both his hands. When he settled
the annuity of ^'50 a year therefore on Mrs Miller, he
told her, " it was in consideration of always having her
first-floor when he was in town (which he scarce ever
intended to be), but that she might let it at any other
time, for that he would always send her a month's
warning." He was now, however, hurried to town
so suddenly, that he had no opportunity of giving such
notice ; and this hurry probably prevented him, when
he wrote for his lodgings, adding, if they were then
empty ; for he would most certainly have been well
satisfied to have relinquished them, on a less sufficient
excuse than what Mrs Miller could now have made.
But there are a sort of persons, who, as Prior ex-
cellently well remarks, direct their conduct by some-
thing
Beyond the fix'd and settled rules
Of vice and virtue in the schools,
Beyond the letter of the law.
To these it is so far from being sufficient that their
defence would acquit them at the Old Bailey, that they
are not even contented, though conscience, the severest
of all judges, should discharge them. Nothing short
of the fair and honourable will satisfy the delicacy of
their minds ; and if any of their actions fall short of this
mark, they mope and pine, are as uneasy and restless as
a murderer, who is afraid of a ghost, or of the hangman.
Mrs Miller was one of these. She could not con-
ceal her uneasiness at this letter ; with the contents of
which she had no sooner acquainted the company, and
given some hints of her distress, than Jones, her good
angel, presently relieved her anxiety. " As for my-
self, madam," said he, " my lodging is at your service
at a moment's warning ; and Mr Nightingale, I am
88 THE HISTORY OF
sure, as he cannot yet prepare a house fit to receive his
lady, will consent to return to his new lodging, whither
Mrs Nightingale will certainly consent to go." With
which proposal both husband and wife instantly agreed.
The reader will easily believe, that the cheeks of
Mrs Miller began again to glow with additional grati-
tude to Jones ; but, perhaps, it may be more difficult to
persuade him, that Mr Jones having in his last speech
called her daughter Mrs Nightingale (it being the first
time that agreeable sound had ever reached her ears),
gave the fond mother more satisfaction, and warmed
her heart more towards Jones, than his having dissipated
her present anxiety.
The next day was then appointed for the removal of
the new-married couple, and of Mr Jones, who was
likewise to be provided for in the same house with his
friend. And now the serenity of the company was
again restored, and they past the day in the utmost
chearfulness, all except Jones, who, though he out-
wardly accompanied the rest in their mirth, felt many
a bitter pang on the account of his Sophia, which were
not a little heightened by the news of Mr Blifil's com-
ing to town (for he clearly saw the intention of his
journey) ; and what greatly aggravated his concern was,
that Mrs Honour, who had promised to inquire after
Sophia, and to make her report to him early the next
evening, had disappointed him.
In the situation that he and his mistress were in at
this time, there were scarce any grounds for him to
hope that he should hear any good news ; yet he was
as impatient to see Mrs Honour as if he had expected
she would bring him a letter with an assignation in
it from Sophia, and bore the disappointment as ill.
Whether this impatience arose from that natural weak-
ness of the human mind, which makes it desirous to
know the worst, and renders uncertainty the most
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 89
intolerable of pains ; or whether he still flattered him-
self with some secret hopes, we will not determine.
But that it might be the last, whoever has loved can-
not but know. For of all the powers exercised by
this passion over our minds, one of the most wonderful
is that of supporting hope in the midst of despair.
Difficulties, improbabilities, nay, impossibilities, are
quite overlooked by it ; so that to any man extremely
in love, may be applied what Addison says of Caesar,
"The Alps, and Pyrenaeans, sink before him ! "
Yet it is equally true, that the same passion will some-
times make mountains of molehills, and produce despair
in the midst of hope ; but these cold fits last not long
in good constitutions. Which temper Jones was now
in, we leave the reader to guess, having no exact infor-
mation about it ; but this is certain, that he had spent
two hours in expectation, when, being unable any
longer to conceal his uneasiness, he retired to his room ;
where his anxiety had almost made him frantick, when
the following letter was brought him from Mrs Honour,
with which we shall present the reader verbatim et
literatim.
" Sir,
" I shud sartenly haf kaled on you a cordin too
mi prommiss haddunt itt bin that hur lashipp prevent mee ;
for to bee siu-. Sir, you nose very well that evere persun
must luk furst at ome, and sartenly such anuther ofFar
mite not have ever hapned, so as I shud ave bin justly
to blam, had I not excepted of it when her lashipp was
so veri kind as to offar to mak mee hur one uman
without mi ever askin any such thing, to be sur shee is
won of thee best ladis in thee wurld, and pepil who
sase to the kontrari must bee veri wiket pepil in thare
harts. To bee sur if ever I ave sad any thing of that
90 THE HISTORY OF
kine it as bin thru ignorens, and I am hartili sorri for
it. I nose your onur to be a genteelraan of more onur
and onesty, if I ever said ani such thing, to repete it to
hurt a pore servant that as alwais add thee gratest re-
spect in thee wiu-ld for ure onur. To be sur won shud
kepe wons tung within wons teeth, for no boddi nose
what may hapen ; and to bee sur if ani boddi ad tolde
mee yesterday, that I shud haf bin in so gud a plase to
day, I shud not haf beleeved it ; for to be sur I never
was a dremd of any such thing, nor shud I ever have
soft after ani other bodi's plase ; but as her lashipp wass
so kine of her one a cord too give it mee without askin,
to be sur Mrs EtofF herself, nor no other boddi can
blam mee for exceptin such a thing when it fals in mi
waye. I beg ure Onur not to menshion ani thing of
what I haf sad, for I wish ure Onur all thee gud luk
in the wurld ; and I don't cuestion butt thatt u will
haf Madam Sofia in the end ; butt ass to miself ure
onur nose I kant bee of ani farder sarvis to u in that
matar, nou bein imder thee cumand off anuther parson,
and nott mi one mistress, I begg ure Onm- to say nothing
of what past, and belive me to be, sir, ure Onur's umble
servant to cumand till deth,
" Honour Blackmore."
Various were the conjectures which Jones entertained
on this step of Lady Bellaston ; who, in reality, had
little farther design than to secure within her own
house the repository of a secret, which she chose
should make no farther progress than it had made
already ; but mostly, she desired to keep it from the
ears of Sophia ; for though that young lady was almost
the only one who would never have repeated it again,
her ladyship could not persuade herself of this ; since,
as she now hated poor Sophia with most implacable
hatred, she conceived a reciprocal hatred to herself to
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 9 1
be lodged in the tender breast of our heroine, where no
such passion had ever yet found an entrance.
While Jones was terrifying himself with the appre-
hension of a thousand dreadful machinations, and deep
political designs, which he imagined to be at the bottom
of the promotion of Honour, Fortune, who hitherto
seems to have been an utter enemy to his match with
Sophia, tried a new method to put a final end to it, by
throwing a temptation in his way, which in his present
desperate situation it seemed unlikely he should be able
to resist.
Containing curious, but not unprecedented matter.
THERE was a lady, one Mrs Hunt, who had
often seen Jones at the house where he lodged,
being intimately acquainted with the women
there, and indeed a very great friend to Mrs Miller.
Her age was about thirty, for she owned six-and-
twenty ; her face and person very good, only inclining
a little too much to be fat. She had been married
young by her relations to an old Turkey merchant,
who, having got a great fortune, had left off trade.
With him she lived without reproach, but not without
pain, in a state of great self-denial, for about twelve
years ; and her virtue was rewarded by his dying and
leaving her very rich. The first year of her widow-
hood was just at an end, and she had past it in a
good deal of retirement, seeing only a few particular
friends, and dividing her time between her devotions
and novels, of which she was always extremely fond.
Very good health, a very warm constitution, and a
good deal of religion, made it absolutely necessary for
92 THE HISTORY OF
her to marry again ; and she resolved to please herself
in her second husband, as she had done her friends in
the first. From her the following billet was brought
to Jones : —
" Sir,
" From the first day I saw you, I doubt my eyes
have told you too plainly that you were not indifferent
to me ; but neither my tongue nor my hand should
have ever avowed it, had not the ladies of the family
where you are lodged given me such a character of
you, and told me such proofs of your virtue and
goodness, as convince me you are not only the most
agreeable, but the most worthy of men. I have also
the satisfaction to hear from them, that neither my
person, understanding, or character, are disagreeable to
you. I have a fortune sufficient to make us both happy,
but which cannot make me so without you. In tlaus
disposing of myself, I know I shall incur the censure
of the world ; but if I did not love you more than I
fear the world, I should not be worthy of you. One
only difficulty stops me : I am informed you are en-
gaged in a commerce of gallantry with a woman of
fashion. If you think it worth while to sacrifice that
to the possession of me, I am yours ; if not, forget my
weakness, and let this remain an eternal secret between
you and
" Arabella Hunt."
At the reading of this, Jones was put into a violent
flutter. His fortune was then at a very low ebb, the
source being stopt from which hitherto he had been
supplied. Of all he had received from Lady Bellaston,
not above five guineas remained ; and that very morning
he had been dunned by a tradesman for twice that sum.
His hbnouiable mistress was in the hands of her father,
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 93
and he had scarce any hopes ever to get her out of
them again. To be subsisted at her expense, from that
little fortune she had independent of her father, went
much against the delicacy both of his pride and his
love. This lady's fortune would have been exceeding
convenient to him, and he could have no objection to
her in any respect. On the contrary, he liked her as
well as he did any woman except Sophia. But to
abandon Sophia, and marry another, that was impos-
sible ; he could not think of it upon any account. Yet
why should he not, since it was plain she could not be
his ? Would it not be kinder to her, than to continue
her longer engaged in a hopeless passion for him ?
Ought he not to do so in friendship to her? This
notion prevailed some moments, and he had almost
determined to be false to her from a high point of
honour : but that refinement was not able to stand very
long against the voice of nature, which cried in his
heart that such friendship was treason to love. At last
he called for pen, ink, and paper, and writ as follows
to Mrs Hunt : —
" Madam,
" It would be but a poor return to the favour you
have done me to sacrifice any gallantry to the possession
of you, and I would certainly do it, though I were not
disengaged, as at present I am, from any affair of that
kind. But I should not be the honest man you think
me, if I did not tell you that my affections are engaged
to another, who is a woman of virtue, and one that I
never can leave, though it is probable I shall never
possess her. God forbid that, in return of your kind-
ness to me, I should do you such an injury as to give
you my hand when I cannot give my heart. No ; I
had much rather starve than be guilty of that. Even
though my mistress were married to another, I would
94 THE HISTORY OF
not marry you unless my heart had entirely effaced all
impressions of her. Be assured that your secret was
not more safe in your own breast, than in that of your
most obliged, and grateful humble servant,
" T. Jones."
When our heroe had finished and sent this letter, he
went to his scrutore, took out Miss Western's muff,
kissed it several times, and then strutted some turns
about his room, with more satisfaction of mind than
ever any Irishman felt in carrying off a fortune of fifty
thousand pounds.
A discovery made by Partridge.
WHILE Jones was exulting in the consciousness
of his integrity, Partridge came capering into
the room, as was his custom when he brought,
or fancied he brought, any good tidings. He had been
despatched that morning by his master, with orders to
endeavour, by the servants of Lady Bellaston, or by any
other means, to discover whither Sophia had been
conveyed ; and he now returned, and with a joyful
countenance told our heroe that he had found the lost
bird. " I have seen, sir," says he, " Black George,
the gamekeeper, who is one of the servants whom the
squire hath brought with him to town. I knew him
presently, though I have not seen him these several
years ; but you know, sir, he is a very remarkable man,
or, to use a purer phrase, he hath a most remarkable
beard, the largest and blackest I ever saw. It was
some time, however, before Black George could recol-
lect me." " Well, but what is your good news ? "
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 95
cries Jones ; " what do you know of my Sophia ? "
" You shall know presently, sir," answered Partridge,
" I am coming to it as fast as I can. You are so
impatient, sir, you would come at the infinitive mood
before you can get to the imperative. As I was say-
ing, sir, it was some time before he recollected my
face." — "Confound youi" face!" cries Jones, "what
of my Sophia ? " " Nay, sir," answered Partridge,
" I know nothing more of Madam Sophia than what I
am going to tell you ; and I should have told you all
before this if you had not interrupted me ; but if you
look so angry at me you will frighten all of it out of my
head, or, to use a purer phrase, out of my memory. I
never saw you look so angry since the day we left
Upton, which I shall remember if I was to live a
thousand years." "Well, pray go on your own
way," said Jones : " you are resolved to make me mad
I find." "Not for the world," answered Partridge,
" I have suffered enough for that already ; which, as I
said, I shall bear in my remembrance the longest day
I have to live." "Well, but Black George?" cries
Jones. " Well, sir, as I was saying, it was a long
time before he could recollect me ; for, indeed, I am
very much altered since I saw him. Non sum quails
eram. I have had troubles in the world, and nothing
alters a man so much as grief. I have heard it will
change the colour of a man's hair in a night. How-
ever, at last, know me he did, that's sure enough ; for
we are both of an age, and were at the same charity
school. George was a great dunce, but no matter for
that ; all men do not thrive in the world according to
their learning. I am sure I have reason to say so ;
but it will be all one a thousand years hence. Well,
sir, where was I ? O — well, we no sooner knew
each other, than, after many hearty shakes by the hand,
we agreed to go to an alehouse and take a pot, and by
96 THE HISTORY OF
good luck the beer was some of the best I have met
with since I have been in town. Now, sir, I am
coming to the point ; for no sooner did I name you,
and told him that you and I came to town together,
and had lived together ever since, than he called for
another pot, and swore he would drink to your health ;
and indeed he drank your health so heartily that I
was overjoyed to see there was so much gratitude left
in the world ; and after we had emptied that pot I
said I would be my pot too, and so we drank another
to your health ; and then I made haste home to tell
you the news."
" What news ? " cries Jones, " you have not men-
tioned a word of my Sophia ! " " Bless me 1 I had
like to have forgot that Indeed, we mentioned a great
deal about young Madam Western, and George told
me all ; that Mr Blifil is coming to town in order to
be married to her. He had best make haste then,
says I, or somebody will have her before he comes ;
and, indeed, says I, Mr Seagrim, it is a thousand pities
somebody should not have her ; for he certainly loves
her above all the women in the world. I would have
both you and she know, that it is not for her fortune
he follows her ; for I can assure you, as to matter of
that, tiiere is another lady, one of much greater quality
and fortune than she can pretend to, who is so fond of
somebody that she comes after him day and night."
Here Jones fell into a passion with Partridge, for
having, as he said, betrayed him ; but the poor fellow
answered, he had mentioned no name : " Besides, sir,"
said he, " I can assure you George is sincerely your
friend, and wished Mr Blifil at the devil more than
once ; nay, he said he would do anything in his power
upon earth to serve you ; and so I am convinced he
will. Betray you, indeed ! why, I question whether
you have a better friend than George upon earth.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 97
except myself, or one that would go larther to serve
you."
" Well," says Jones, a little pacified, " you say this
fellow, who, I believe, indeed, is enough inclined to be
my friend, lives in the same house with Sophia ? "
" In the same house ! " answered Partridge ; " why,
sir, he is one of the servants of the family, and very
well drest I promise you he is ; if it was not for his
black beard you would hardly know him."
" One service then at least he may do me," says
Jones : " sure he can certainly convey a letter to my
Sophia."
" You have hit the nail ad unguem" cries Partridge ;
" how came I not to think of it ? I will engage he shall
do it upon the very first mentioning."
" Well, then," said Jones, " do you leave me at
present, and I will write a letter, which you shall de-
liver to him to-morrow morning ; for I suppose you
know where to find him."
" O yes, sir," answered Partridge, " I shall certainly
find him again ; there is no fear of that. The liquor
is too good for him to stay away long. I make no
doubt but he will be there every day he stays in
town."
" So you don't know the street then where my Sophia
is lodged ? " cries Jones.
" Indeed, sir, I do," says Partridge.
" What is the name of the street ? " cries Jones.
"The name, sir ? why, here, sir, just by," answered
Partridge, " not above a street or two off. I don't,
indeed, know the very name ; for, as he never told
me, if I had asked, you know, it might have put some
suspicion into his head. No, no, sir, let me alone for
that. I am too cunning for that, I promise you."
" Thou art most wonderfully cunning, indeed," replied
Jones ; " however, I will write to my charmer, since I
98
THE HISTORY OF TOM JONES.
believe you will be cunning enough to find him to-
morrow at the alehouse."
And now, having dismissed the sagacious Partridge,
Mr Jones sat himself down to write, in which employ-
ment we shall leave him for a time. And here we put
an end to the fifteenth book.
^'ir^te^
Si^^^W5^3jS>;*;!i
s— -^»b'-
^^S^^^^
-; j^^ ^frT^^^^f^
5^^L«^tff*^^^^5H'^'*^^
^riii^-^^^^^
'^^^
^^^^^^
S^P
^^^^^'
&?S^^§r^^i
ws^n^^L *^^^Bk
aU'. 'V^r
l^^K
^^^te-'S^
■P^^
IS^^J?/*^-
BOOK XVI.
CONTAINING THE SPACE OF FIVE DAYS.
0/" prologues.
I HAVE heard of a dramatic writer who used to
say, he would rather write a play than a prologue ;
in like manner, I think, I can with less pains write
one of the books of this history than the prefatory
chapter to each of them.
To say the truth, I believe many a hearty curse hath
been devoted on the head of that author who first in-
stituted the method of prefixing to his play that portion
of matter which is called the prologue ; and which at
first was part of the piece itself, but of latter years hath
had usually so little connexion with the di'ama before
which it stands, that the pi'ologue to one play might as
well serve for any other. Those indeed of more modern
date, seem all to be written on the same three topics,
viz., an abuse of the taste of the town, a condemnation
of all contemporary authors, and an eulogium on the
performance just about to be represented. The senti-
ments in all these are very little varied, nor is it possible
they should ; and indeed I have often wondered at the
great invention of authors, who have been capable of
finding such various phrases to express the same thing-
99
lOO THE HISTORY OF
In like manner I apprehend, some future historian
(if any one shall do me the honour of imitating my
manner) will, after much scratching his pate, bestow
some good wishes on my memory, for having first
established these several initial chapters ; most of which,
like modern prologues, may as properly be prefixed to
any other book in this history as to that which they
introduce, or indeed to any other history as to this.
But however authors may suffer by either of these
inventions, the reader will find sufficient emolument in
the one as the spectator hath long found in the other.
First, it is well known that the prologue serves the
critic for an opportunity to try his faculty of hissing,
and to tune his cat-call to the best advantage ; by
which means, I have known those musical instruments
so well prepared, that they have been able to play in
full concert at the first rising of the curtain.
The same advantages may be drawn from these
chapters, in which the critic will be always sure of
meeting with something that may serve as a whetstone
to his noble spirit ; so that he may fall with a more
hungry appetite for censure on the history itself. And
here his sagacity must make it needless to observe how
artfully these chapters are calculated for that excellent
purpose ; for in these we have always taken care to
intersperse somewhat of the soui" or acid kind, in order
to sharpen and stimulate the said spirit of criticism.
Again, the indolent reader, as well as spectator, finds
great advantage from both these ; for, as they are not
obliged either to see the one or read the others, and
both the play and the book are thus protracted, by the
former they have a quarter of an hour longer allowed
them to sit at dinner, and by the latter they have the
advantage of beginning to read at the fourth or fifth
page instead of the first, a matter by no means of trivial
consequence to persons who read books with no other
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. lOI
view than to say they have read them, a more general
motive to reading than is commonly imagined ; and
from which not only law books, and good books, but
the pages of Homer and Virgil, of Swift and Cervantes,
have been often turned over.
Many other are the emoluments which arise from
both these, but they are for the most part so obvious,
that we shall not at present stay to enumerate them ;
especially since it occurs to us that the principal merit
of both the prologue and the preface is that they be
short.
Cl^apter ii,
A whimsical adventure ivh'tch hefel the squire, nuith the
distressed situation of Sophia.
WE must now convey the reader to Mr Western's
lodgings, which were in Piccadilly, where
he was placed by the recommendation of the
landlord at the Hercules Pillars at Hyde Park Corner ;
for at the inn, which was the first he saw on his arrival
in town, he placed his horses, and in those lodgings,
which were the first he heard of, he deposited himself.
Here, when Sophia alighted from the hackney-coach,
which brought her from the house of Lady Bellaston,
she desired to retire to the apartment provided for her ;
to which her father very readily agreed, and whither he
attended her himself. A short dialogue, neither very
material nor pleasant to relate minutely, then passed
between them, in which he pressed her vehemently to
give her consent to the marriage with Blifil, who, as
he acquainted her, was to be in town in a few days ;
but, instead of complying, she gave a more peremptory
and resolute refusal than she had ever done before.
I02 THE HISTORY OF
This SO incensed her father, that after many bitter
vows, that he would force her to have him whether
she would or no, he departed from her with many
hard words and curses, locked the door, and put the
key into his pocket.
While Sophia was left with no other company than
what attend the closest state prisoner, namely, fire and
candle, the squire sat down to regale himself over a
bottle of wine, with his parson and the landlord of the
Hercules Pillars, who, as the squire said, would make
an excellent third man, and could inform them of the
news of the town, and how affairs went ; for to be
sure, says he, he knows a great deal, since the horses
of many of the quality stand at his house.
In this agreeable society Mr Western past that
evening and great part of the succeeding day, during
which period nothing happened of sufficient consequence
to find a place in this history. All this time Sophia
past by herself; for her father swore she should never
come out of her chamber alive, unless she first con-
sented to marry Blifil ; nor did he ever suffer the door
to be unlocked, unless to convey her food, on which
occasions he always attended himself.
The second morning after his arrival, while he and
the parson were at breakfast together on a toast and
tankard, he was informed that a gentleman was below
to wait on him.
" A gentleman I " quoth the squire, "who the devil
can he be ? Do, doctor, go down and see who 'tis.
Mr Blifil can hardly be come to town yet. — Go down,
do, and know what his business is."
The doctor returned with an account that it was a
very well-drest man, and by the ribbon in his hat he
took him for an officer of the army ; that he said he
had some particular business, which he could deliver to
none but Mr Western himself.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 103
"An officer! " cries the squire; "what can any
such fellow have to do with me ? If he wants an
order for baggage-waggons, I am no justice of peace
here, nor can I grant a warrant. — Let un come up
then, if he must speak to me."
A very genteel man now entered the room ; who,
having made his compliments to the squire, and desired
the favour of being alone with him, delivered himself
as follows : —
" Sir, I come to wait upon you by the command of
my Lord FeUamar ; but with a very different message
from what I suppose you expect, after what past the
other night."
" My lord who ? " cries the squire ; " I never heard
the name o'un."
" His lordship," said the gentleman, " is willing to
impute everything to the effect of liquor, and the most
trifling acknowledgment of that kind will set everything
right ; for as he hath the most violent attachment to
youi' daughter, you, sir, are the last person upon earth
from whom he would resent an affront ; and happy is
it for you both that he hath given such public demon-
strations of his courage as to be able to put up an affair
of this kind without danger of any imputation on his
honour. All he desires, therefore, is, that you will
before me make some acknowledgment ; the slightest
in the world will be sufficient ; and he intends this
afternoon to pay his respects to you, in order to obtain
your leave of visiting the young lady on the footing of
a lover."
" I don't understand much of what you say, sir,"
said the squire ; " but I suppose, by what you talk
about my daughter, that this is the lord which my
cousin. Lady Bellaston, mentioned to me, and said
something about his comting my daughter. If so be
that how that be the case — you may give my service
I04 THE HISTORY OF
to his lordship, and tell un the girl is disposed of
already."
" Perhaps, sir," said the gentleman, " you are not
sufficiently apprized of the greatness of this offer. I
believe such a person, title, and fortune would be no-
where refused."
" Lookee, sir," answered the squire ; " to be very
plain, my daughter is bespoke already ; but if she was
not, I would not marry her to a lord upon any account ;
I hate all lords ; they are a parcel of courtiers and
Hanoverians, and I will have nothing to do with
them."
" Well, sir," said the gentleman, " if that is your
resolution, the message I am to deliver to you is that
my lord desires the favour of your company this morn-
ing in Hyde Park."
" You may tell my lord," answered the squire,
" that I am busy and cannot come. I have enough
to look after at home, and can't stir abroad on any
account."
" I am sure, sir," quoth the other, " you are too
much a gentleman to send such a message ; you will
not, I am convinced, have it said of you, that, after
having affronted a noble peer, you refuse him satisfac-
tion. His lordship would have been willing, from his
great regard to the young lady, to have made up
matters in another way ; but unless he is to look on
you as a father, his honour will not suffer his putting
up such an indignity as you must be sensible you offered
him."
" I offered him ! " cries the squire ; " it is a d — n'd
lie ! I never offered him anything."
Upon these words the gentleman returned a very
short verbal rebuke, and this he accompanied at the
same time with some manual remonstrances, which no
sooner reached the ears of Mr Western, than that
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. I05
worthy squire began to caper very briskly about the
room, bellowing at the same time with all his might,
as if desirous to summon a greater number of spectators
to behold his agility.
The parson, who had left great part of the tankard
unfinished, was not retired far ; he immediately at-
tended therefore on the squire's vociferation, crying,
" Bless me ! sir, what's the matter ? " — « Matter ! "
quoth the squire, " here's a highwayman, I believe,
who wants to rob and murder me — for he hath fallen
upon me with that stick there in his hand, when
I wish I may be d — n'd if I gid un the least provo-
cation."
" How, sir," said the captain, " did you not tell me
I lyed ? "
" No, as I hope to be saved," answered the squire,
" — I believe I might say, 'Twas a lie that I had
offered any affront to my lord — but I never said the
word, ' you lie.' — I understand myself better, and you
might have understood yourself better than to fall upon
a naked man. If I had a stick in my hand, you would
not have dared strike me. I'd have knocked thy
lantern jaws about thy ears. Come down into yard
this minute, and I'll take a bout with thee at single
stick for a broken head, that I will ; or I will go into
naked room and box thee for a belly-full. At unt half
a man, at unt, I'm sure."
The captain, with some indignation, replied, " I see,
sir, you are below my notice, and I shall inform his
lordship you are below his. I am sorry I have dirtied
my fingers with you." At which words he withdrew,
the parson interposing to prevent the squire from stop-
ping him, in which he easily prevailed, as the other,
though he made some efforts for the purpose, did not
seem very violently bent on success. However, when
the captain was departed, the squire sent many curses
Io6 THE HISTORY OF
and some menaces after him ; but as these did not set
out from his lips till the officer was at the bottom of the
stairs, and grew louder and louder as he was more and
more remote, they did not reach his ears, or at least did
not retard his departure.
Poor Sophia, however, who, in her prison, heard all
her father's outcries from first to last, began now first
to thunder with her foot, and afterwards to scream as
loudly as the old gentleman himself had done before,
though in a much sweeter voice. These screams soon
silenced the squire, and turned all his consideration
towards his daughter, whom he loved so tenderly, that
the least apprehension of any harm happening to her,
threw him presently into agonies ; for, except in that
single instance in which the whole future happiness of
her life was concerned, she was sovereign mistress of
his inclinations.
Having ended his rage against the captain, with
swearing he would take the law of him, the squire now
mounted upstairs to Sophia, whom, as soon as he had
unlocked and opened the door, he found all pale and
breathless. The moment, however, that she saw her
father, she collected all her spirits, and, catching him
hold by the hand, she cryed passionately, " O my dear
sir, I am almost frightened to death ! I hope to heaven
no harm hath happened to you." " No, no," cries the
squire, " no great harm. The rascal hath not hurt me
much, but rat me if I don't ha the la o' un." " Pray,
dear sir," says she, "tell me what's the matter; who
is it that hath insulted you ? " "I don't know the
name o' un," answered Western ; " some officer fellow,
I suppose, that we are to pay for beating us ; but I'll
make him pay this bout, if the rascal hath got anything,
which I suppose he hath not. For thof he was drest
out so vine, I question whether he had got a voot of
land in the world." " But, dear sir," cries she.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 107
" what was the occasion of your quarrel ? " " What
should it be, Sophy," answered the squire, " but about
you, Sophy ? All my misfortunes are about you ; you
will be the death of your poor father at last. Here's a
varlet of a lord, the Lord knows who, forsooth ! who
hath a taan a liking to you, and because I would not
gi un my consent, he sent me a kallenge. Come, do
be a good girl, Sophy, and put an end to all your
father's troubles ; come, do consent to ha un ; he will
be in town within this day or two ; do but promise me
to marry un as soon as he comes, and you will make
me the happiest man in the world, and I will make you
the happiest woman ; you shall have the finest cloaths
in London, and the finest jewels, and a coach and six
at your command. I promised AUworthy already to
give up half my estate — odrabbet it ! I should hardly
stick at giving up the whole." " Will my papa be so
kind," says she, " as to hear me speak ? " — " Why
wout ask, Sophy ? " cries he, " when dost know I
had rather hear thy voice than the musick of the best
pack of dogs in England. — Hear thee, my dear little
girl ! I hope I shall hear thee as long as I live ;
for if I was ever to lose that pleasure, I would not
gee a brass varden to live a moment longer. Indeed,
Sophy, you do not know how I love you, indeed
you don't, or you never could have run away and
left your poor father, who hath no other joy, no other
comfort upon earth, but his little Sophy." At these
words the tears stood in his eyes; and Sophia (with
the tears streaming from hers) answered, "Indeed,
my dear papa, I know you have loved me tenderly,
and heaven is my witness how sincerely I have re-
turned your affection ; nor could anything but an
apprehension of being forced into the arms of this
man have driven me to run from a father whom I
love so passionately, that I would, with pleasure.
Io8 THE HISTORY OF
sacrifice my life to his happiness ; nay, I have en-
deavoured to reason myself into doing more, and had
almost worked up a resolution to endure the most
miserable of all lives, to comply with your inclination.
It was that resolution alone to which I could not force
my mind ; nor can I ever." Here the squire began
to look wild, and the foam appeared at his lips, which
Sophia, observing, begged to be heard out, and then
proceeded : " If my father's life, his health, or any
real happiness of his was at stake, here stands your
resolved daughter ; may heaven blast me if there is a
misery I would not suffer to preserve you ! — No, that
most detested, most loathsome of all lots would I
embrace. I would give my hand to Blifil for your
sake." — " I tell thee, it will preserve me," answers
the father ; " it will give me health, happiness, life,
everything. — Upon my soul I shall die if dost refuse
me ; I shall break my heart, I shall, upon my soul."
— " Is it possible," says she, " you can have such a
desire to make me miserable ? " — " I tell thee noa,"
answered he loudly, "d — n me if there is a thing upon
earth I would not do to see thee happy." — " And will
not my dear papa allow me to have the least knowledge
of what will make me so ? If it be true that happiness
consists in opinion, what must be my condition, when
I shall think myself the most miserable of all the
wretches upon earth ? " " Better think yourself so,"
said he, " than know it by being married to a poor
bastardly vagabond." " If it will content you, sir,"
said Sophia, " I will give you the most solemn promise
never to marry him, nor any other, while my papa
lives, without his consent. Let me dedicate my whole
life to your service ; let me be again your poor Sophy,
and my whole business and pleasure be, as it hath
been, to please and divert you." " Lookee, Sophy,"
answered the squire, " I am not to be choused in this
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 09
manner. Your aunt Western would then have reason
to think me the fool she doth. No, no, Sophy, I'd
have you to know I have a got more wisdom, and
know more of the world, than to take the word of
a woman in a matter where a man is concerned."
" How, sir, have I deserved this want of confidence ? "
said she ; " have I ever broke a single promise to you i
or have I ever been found guilty of a falsehood from
my cradle ? " " Lookee, Sophy," cries he ; " that's
neither here nor there. I am determined upon this
match, and have him you shall, d — n me if shat unt.
D — n me if shat unt, though dost hang thyself the
next morning." At repeating which words he clinched
his fist, knit his brows, bit his lips, and thundered so
loud, that the poor afflicted, terrified Sophia sunk
trembling into her chair, and, had not a flood of
tears come immediately to her relief, perhaps worse
had followed.
Western beheld the deplorable condition of his
daughter with no more contrition or remorse than
the turnkey of Newgate feels at viewing the agonies
of a tender wife, when taking her last farev/ell of
her condemned husband ; or rather he looked down
on her with the same emotions which arise in an
honest fair tradesman, who sees his debtor dragged to
prison for a^io, which, though a just debt, the wretch
is wickedly unable to pay. Or, to hit the case still
more nearly, he felt the same compunction with a
bawd, when some poor innocent, whom she hath en-
snared into her hands, falls into fits at the first proposal
of what is called seeing company. Indeed this re-
semblance would be exact, was it not that the bawd
hath an interest in what she doth, and the father,
though perhaps he may blindly think otherwise, can,
in reality, have none in urging his daughter to almost
an equal prostitution.
110 THE HISTORY OF
In this condition he left his poor Sophia, and,
departing with a very vulgar observation on the effect
of tears, he locked the room, and returned to the
parson, who said everything he durst in behalf of the
young lady, which, though perhaps it was not quite so
much as his duty required, yet was it sufficient to throw
the squire into a violent rage, and into many indecent
reflections on the whole body of the clergy, which we
have too great an honour for that sacred function to
commit to paper.
C-Hptcr iiU
What happened to Sophia during her confinement.
THE landlady of the house where the squire lodged
had begun very early to entertain a strange opinion
of her guests. However, as she was Informed
that the squli-e was a man of vast fortune, and as she
had taken care to exact a very extraordinary price for
her rooms, she did not think proper to give any
offence ; for, though she was not without some con-
cern for the confinement of poor Sophia, of whose
great sweetness of temper and affability the maid of
the house had made so favourable a report, which was
confirmed by all the squire's servants, yet she had much
more concern for her own interest than to provoke one,
whom, as she said, she perceived to be a very hastish
kind of a gentleman.
Though Sophia eat but little, yet she was regularly
served with her meals ; indeed, I believe, if she had
liked any one rarity, that the squire, however angry,
would have spared neither pains nor cost to have pro-
cured it for her ; since, however strange it may appear
to some of my readers, he really doated on his daughter.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. Ill
and to give her any kind of pleasure was the highest
satisfaction of his life.
The dinner-hour being arrived, Black George carried
her up a pullet, the squire himself (for he had sworn
not to part with the key) attending the door. As
George deposited the dish, some compliments passed
between him and Sophia (for he had not seen her since
she left the country, and she treated every servant with
more respect than some persons shew to those who are
in a very slight degree their inferiors). Sophia would
have had him take the pullet back, saying, she could
not eat ; but George begged her to try, and particularly
recommended to her the eggs, of which he said it
was full.
All this time the squire was waiting at the door ;
but George was a great favouiite with his master, as
his employment was in concerns of the highest nature,
namely, about the game, and was accustomed to take
many liberties. He had officiously carried up the
dinner, being, as he said, very desirous to see his young
lady ; he made therefore no scruple of keeping his
master standing above ten minutes, while civilities were
passing between him and Sophia, for which he received
only a good-humoured rebuke at the door when he
returned.
The eggs of pullets, partridges, pheasants, &c., were,
as George well knew, the most favourite dainties of
Sophia. It was therefore no wonder that he, who was
a very good-natured fellow, should take care to supply
her with this kind of delicacy, at a time when all the
servants in the house were afraid she would be starved ;
for she had scarce swallowed a single morsel in the last
forty hours.
Though vexation hath not the same effect on all
persons as it usually hath on a widow, whose appetite
it often renders sharper than it can be rendered by the
112 THE HISTORY OF
air on Bansted Downs, or Salisbury Plain ; yet the
sublimest grief, notwithstanding what some people may
say to the contrary, will eat at last. And Sophia, her-
self, after some little consideration, began to dissect the
fowl, which she found to be as full of eggs as George
had reported it.
But, if she was pleased with these, it contained some-
thing which would have delighted the Royal Society
much more ; for if a fowl with three legs be so in-
valuable a curiosity, when perhaps time hath produced
a thousand such, at what price shall we esteem a bird
which so totally contradicts all the laws of animal
oeconomy, as to contain a letter in its belly ? Ovid
tells us of a flower into which Hyacinthus was meta-
morphosed, that bears letters on its leaves, which Virgil
recommended as a miracle to the Royal Society of his
day ; but no age nor nation hath ever recorded a bird
with a letter in its maw.
But though a miracle of this kind might have engaged
all the Academies des Sciences in Europe, and perhaps in a
fruitless enquiry ; yet the reader, by barely recollecting
the last dialogue which passed between Messieurs Jones
and Partridge, will be very easily satisfied from whence
this letter came, and how it found its passage into the
fowl.
Sophia, notwithstanding her long fast, and notwith-
standing her favourite dish was there before her, no
sooner saw the letter than she immediately snatched it
up, tore it open, and read as follows : —
" Madam,
" Was I not sensible to whom I have the honour
of writing, I should endeavour, however diflicult, to paint
the horrors of my mind at the account brought me by
Mrs Honour ; but as tenderness alone can have any
true idea of the pangs which tenderness is capable of
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. II3
feeling, so can this most amiable quality, which my
Sophia possesses in the most eminent degree, sufficiently
inform her what her Jones must have suffered on this
melancholy occasion. Is there a circumstance in the
world which can heighten my agonies, when I hear of
any misfortune which hath befallen you ? Surely there
is one only, and with that I am accursed. It is, my
Sophia, the dreadful consideration that I am myself the
wretched cause. Perhaps I here do myself too much
honour, but none will envy me an honour which costs
me so extremely dear. Pardon me this presumption,
and pardon me a gi-eater still, if I ask you, whether
my advice, my assistance, my presence, my absence,
my death, or my tortures can bring you any relief?
Can the most perfect admiration, the most watchful
observance, the most ardent love, the most melting
tenderness, the most resigned submission to your will,
make you amends for what you are to sacrifice to my
happiness ? If they can, fly, my lovely angel, to those
arms which are ever open to receive and protect you ;
and to which, whether you bring yourself alone, or the
riches of the world with you, is, in my opinion, an
alternative not worth regarding. If, on the contrary,
wisdom shall predominate, and, on the most mature
reflection, inform you, that the sacrifice is too great ;
and if there be no way left to reconcile your father,
and restore the peace of your dear mind, but by abandon-
ing me, I conjure you drive me for ever from your
thoughts, exert your resolution, and let no compassion
for my sufferings bear the least weight in that tender
bosom. Believe me, madam, I so sincerely love you
better than myself, that my great and principal end is
your happiness. My first wish (why would not for-
tune indulge me in it?) was, and pardon me if I say,
still is, to see you every moment the happiest of women ;
my second wish is, to hear you are so ; but no misery
IV. H
114 THE HISTORY OF
on earth can equal mine, while I think you owe an
uneasy moment to him who is,
Madam,
in every sense, and to every purpose,
your devoted,
Thomas Jones."
What Sophia said, or did, or thought, upon this
letter, how often she read it, or whether more than
once, shall all be left to our reader's imagination. The
answer to it he may perhaps see hereafter, but not at
present : for this reason, among others, that she did
not now write any, and that for several good causes,
one of which was this, she had no paper, pen, nor ink.
In the evening, while Sophia was meditating on the
letter she had received, or on something else, a violent
noise from below disturbed her meditations. This
noise was no other than a round bout at altercation
between two persons. One of the combatants, by his
voice, she immediately distinguished to be her father ;
but she did not so soon discover the shriller pipes to
belong to the organ of her aunt Western, who was just
arrived in town, where having, by means of one ot her
servants, who stopt at the Hercules Pillars, learned
where her brother lodged, she drove directly to his
lodgings.
We shall therefore take our leave at present of
Sophia, and, with our usual good-breeding, attend her
ladyship.
TOM JONES. A FOUNDLING. II5
In which Sophia is delivered from her confinement.
THE squire and the parson (for the landlord was
now otherwise engaged) were smoaking their
pipes together, when the arrival of the lady was
first signified. The squire no sooner heard her name,
than he immediately ran down to usher her upstairs ;
for he was a great observer of such ceremonials, especially
to his sister, of whom he stood more in awe than of any
other human creature, though he never would own this,
nor did he perhaps know it himself.
Mrs Western, on her arrival in the dining-room,
having flung herself into a chair, began thus to harangue :
"Well, surely, no one ever had such an intolerable
journey. I think the roads, since so many turnpike
acts, are grown worse than ever. La, brother, how
could you get into this odious place ? no person of
condition, I dare swear, ever set foot here before."
" I don't know," cries the squire, " I think they do
well enough ; it was landlord recommended them. I
thought, as he knew most of the quality, he could best
shew me where to get among um." "Well, and
Where's my niece?" says the lady; "have you been
to wait upon Lady Bellaston yet ? " " Ay, ay," cries
the squire, " your niece is safe enough ; she is upstairs
in chamber." " How ! " answered the lady, " is my
niece in this house, and does she not know of my being
here ? " " No, nobody can well get to her," says the
squire, "for she is under lock and key. I have her
safe ; I vetched her from my lady cousin the first
night I came to town, and I have taken care o' her
ever since ; she is as secure as a fox in a bag, I promise
you." " Good heaven ! " returned Mrs Western, " what
Il6 THE HISTORY OF
do I hear ? I thought what a fine piece of work
would be the consequence of my consent to your
coming to town yourself; nay, it was indeed your own
headstrong will, nor can I charge myself with having
ever consented to it. Did not you promise me, brother,
that you would take none of these headstrong measures ?
Was it not by these headstrong measures that you forced
my niece to run away from you in the country ? Have
you a mind to oblige her to take such another step ? "
«Z ds and the devil! " cries the squire, dashing
his pipe on the ground ; " did ever mortal hear the like ?
when I expected you would have commended me for
all I have done, to be fallen upon in this manner ! "
" How, brother ! " said the lady, " have I ever given
you the least reason to imagine I should commend you
for locking up your daughter ? Have I not often told
you that women in a free country are not to be treated
with such arbitrary power ? We are as free as the men,
and I heartily wish I could not say we deserve that
freedom better. If you expect I should stay a moment
longer in this wretched house, or that I should ever own
you again as my relation, or that I should ever trouble
myself again with the affairs of your family, I insist upon
it that my niece be set at liberty this instant." This
she spoke with so commanding an air, standing with
her back to the fire, with one hand behind her, and a
pinch of snufF in the other, that I question whether
Thalestris, at the head of her Amazons, ever made a
more tremendous figure. It is no wonder, therefore,
that the poor squire was not proof against the awe
which she inspired. "There," he cried, throwing
down the key, " there it is, do whatever you please.
I intended only to have kept her up till Blifil came to
town, which can't be long; and now if any harm
happens in the mean time, remember who is to be
blamed for it."
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. I17
" I will answer it with my life," cried Mrs Western,
" but I shall not intermeddle at all, unless upon one
condition, and that is, that you \vill commit the whole
entirely to ray care, without taking any one measure
yourself, unless I shall eventually appoint you to act.
If you ratify these preliminaries, brother, I yet will en-
deavour to preserve the honour of your family ; if not,
I shall continue in a neutral state."
" I pray you, good sir," said the parson, " permit
yourself this once to be admonished by her ladyship :
peradventure, by communing with young Madam Sophia,
she will effect more than you have been able to per-
petrate by more rigorous measures."
" What, dost thee open upon me ? " cries the squire :
**if thee dost begin to babble, I shall whip thee in
presently."
" Fie, brother," answered the lady, " is this language
to a clergyman ? Mr Supple is a man of sense, and
gives you the best advice ; and the whole world, I
believe, will concur in his opinion ; but I must tell you
I expect an immediate answer to my categorical pro-
posals. Either cede your daughter to my disposal, or
take her wholly to your own surprizing discretion, and
then I here, before Mr Supple, evacuate the garrison,
and renounce you and your family for ever."
" I pray you let me be a mediator," cries the parson,
" let me supplicate you."
"Why, there lies the key on the table," cries the
squire. " She may take un up, if she pleases : who
hinders her ? "
" No, brother," answered the lady, " I insist on the
formality of its being delivered me, with a full ratifica-
tion of all the concessions stipulated."
"Why then I will deliver it to you. — There 'tis,"
cries the squire. " I am sure, sister, you can't accuse
me of ever denying to trust my daughter to you. She
Il8 THE HISTORY OF
hath a-lived wi' you a whole year and muore to a time,
without my ever zeeing her."
" And it would have been happy for her," answered
the lady, " if she had always lived with me. Nothing
of this kind would have happened under my eye."
" Ay, certainly," cries he, " I only am to blame."
" Why, you are to blame, brother," answered she.
" I have been often obliged to tell you so, and shall
always be obliged to tell you so. However, I hope
you will now amend, and gather so much experience
from past errors, as not to defeat my wisest machina-
tions by your blunders. Indeed, brother, you are not
qualified for these negociations. All your whole scheme
of politics is wrong. I once more, therefore, insist,
that you do not intermeddle. Remember only what is
past."
"Z ds and bl — d, sister," cries the squire, "what
would you have me say ? You are enough to provoke
the devil."
"There, now," said she, "just according to the old
custom. I see, brother, there is no talking to you. I
will appeal to Mr Supple, who is a man of sense, if I
said anything which could put any human creature into
a passion ; but you are so wrongheaded every way."
" Let me beg you, madam," said the parson, " not
to irritate his worship."
" Irritate him ? " said the lady ; " sure, you are as
great a fool as himself. Well, brother, since you have
promised not to interfere, I will once more undertake
the management of my niece. Lord have mercy upon
all affairs which are under the directions of men ! The
head of one woman is worth a thousand of yours." And
now having summoned a servant to show her to Sophia,
she departed, bearing the key with her.
She was no sooner gone, than the squire (having first
shut the door) ejaculated twenty bitches, and as many
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. II9
hearty curses against her, not sparing himself for having
ever thought of her estate ; but added, " Now one hath
been a slave so long, it would be pity to lose It at last,
for want of holding out a little longer. The bitch can't
live for ever, and I know I am down for it upon the
will."
The parson greatly commended this resolution : and
now the squire having ordered in another bottle, which
was his usual method when anything either pleased or
vexed him, did, by drinking plentifully of this medicinal
julap, so totally wash away his choler, that his temper
was become perfectly placid and serene, when Mrs
Western returned with Sophia into the room. The
young lady had on her hat and capuchin, and the aunt
acquainted Mr Western, "that she intended to take
her niece with her to her own lodgings ; for, indeed,
brother," says she, " these rooms are not fit to receive
a Christian soul in."
"Very well, madam," quoth Western, "whatever
you please. The girl can never be in better hands
than yours ; and the parson here can do me the justice
to say, that I have said fifty times behind your back,
that you was one of the most sensible women in the
world."
" To this," cries the parson, " I am ready to bear
testimony."
" Nay, brother," says Mrs Western, "I have always,
I'm sure, given you as favourable a character. You
must own you have a little too much hastiness in your
temper ; but when you will allow yourself time to
reflect I never knew a man more reasonable."
" Why then, sister, if you think so," said the squire,
"here's your good health with all my heart. I am
a little passionate sometimes, but I scorn to bear any
malice. Sophy, do you be a good girl, and do every-
thing your aunt orders you."
I20 THE HISTORY OF
" I have not the least doubt of her," answered Mrs
Western. " She hath had ah"eady an example before
her eyes in the behaviour of that wretch her cousin
Harriet, who ruined herself by neglecting my advice.
0 brother, what think you ? You was hardly gone
out of hearing, when you set out for London, vhen
who should arrive but that impudent fellow with the
odious Irish name — that Fitzpatrick. He broke in
abruptly upon me without notice, or I would not have
seen him. He ran on a long, unintelligible story about
his wife, to which he forced me to give him a hearing ;
but I made him very little answer, and delivered him
the letter from his wife, which I bid him answer him-
self. I suppose the wretch will endeavour to find us
out, but I beg you will not see her, for I am determined
1 will not."
" I zee her ! " answered the squire ; " you need not
fear me. I'll ge no encouragemant to such undutiful
wenches. It is well for the fellow, her husband, I
was not at huome. Od rabbit it, he should have taken
a dance thru the horse-pond, I promise un. You zee,
Sophy, what undutifulness brings volks to. You have
an example in your own family."
" Brother," cries the aunt, " you need not shock
my niece by such odious repetitions. Why will you
not leave everything entirely to me ? " " Well, well,
I wull, I wull," said the squire.
And now Mrs Western, luckily for Sophia, put an
end to the conversation by ordering chairs to be called.
I say luckily, for had it continued much longer, fresh
matter of dissension would, most probably, have arisen
between the brother and sister ; between whom educa-
tion and sex made the only difference ; for both were
equally violent and equally positive : they had both a
vast affection for Sophia, and both a sovereign con-
tempt for each other.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING.
CMpter to.
In ivh'tch Jones receives a letter from Sophia, and goes to
a play with Mrs Miller and Partridge.
THE arrival of Black George in town, and the good
offices which that grateful fellow had promised
to do for his old benefactor, greatly comforted
Jones in the midst of all the anxiety and uneasiness
which he had suffered on the account of Sophia ; from
whom, by the means of the said George, he received
the following answer to his letter, which Sophia, to
whom the use of pen, ink, and paper was restored with
her liberty, wrote the very evening when she departed
from her confinement :
"Sir,
" As I do not doubt your sincerity in what
you write, you will be pleased to hear that some of my
afflictions are at an end, by the arrival of my aunt
Western, with whom I am at present, and with whom
I enjoy all the liberty I can desire. One promise my
aunt hath insisted on my making, which is, that I will not
see or converse with any person without her knowledge
and consent. This promise I have most solemnly given,
and shall most inviolably keep : and though she hath
not expressly forbidden me writing, yet that must be
an omission from forgetfulness ; or this, perhaps, is
included in the word conversing. However, as I can-
not but consider this as a breach of her generous con-
fidence in my honour, you cannot expect that I shall,
after this, continue to write myself or to receive letters,
without her knowledge. A promise is with me a very
sacred thing, and to be extended to everything under-
stood from it, as well as to what is expressed by it ;
and this consideration may, perhaps, on reflection,
122 THE HISTORY OF
afford you some comfort. But why should I mention
a comfort to you of this kind ; for though there is one
thing in which I can never comply with the best of
fathers, yet am I firmly resolved never to act in defiance
of him, or to take any step of consequence without his
consent. A firm persuasion of this must teach you to
divert your thoughts from what fortune hath (perhaps)
made impossible. This your own interest persuades
you. This may reconcile, I hope, Mr Allworthy to
you ; and if it will, you have my injunctions to pursue
it. Accidents have laid some obligations on me, and
your good intentions probably more. Fortune may,
perhaps, be some time kinder to us both than at present.
Believe this, that I shall always think of you as I think
you deserve, and am.
Sir,
your obliged humble servant,
Sophia Western.
" I charge you write to me no more — at present at
least ; and accept this, which is now of no service to
me, which I know you must want, and think you owe
the trifle only to that fortune by which you found it." *
A child who hath just learnt his letters would have
spelt this letter out in less time than Jones took in
reading it. The sensations it occasioned were a mix-
ture of joy and grief ; somewhat like what divide the
mind of a good man when he peruses the will of his
deceased friend, in which a large legacy, which his
distresses make the more welcome, is bequeathed to
him. Upon the whole, however, he was more pleased
than displeased ; and, indeed, the reader may probably
wonder that he was displeased at all ; but the reader is
not quite so much in love as was poor Jones ; and love
* Meaning, perhaps, the bank-bill for ;i"ioo.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 23
is a disease which, though it may, in some instances,
resemble a consumption (which it sometimes causes),
in others proceeds in direct opposition to it, and par-
ticularly in this, that it never flatters itself, or sees any
one symptom in a favourable light.
One thincT gave him complete satisfaction, which
was, that his mistress had regained her liberty, and was
now with a lady where she might at least assure herself
of a decent treatment. Another comfortable circum-
stance was the reference which she made to her promise
of never marrying any other man ; for however dis-
interested he might imagine his passion, and notwith-
standing all the generous overtures made in his letter,
I very much question whether he could have heard a
more afflicting piece of news than that Sophia was
married to another, though the match had been never
so great, and never so likely to end in making her com-
pletely happy. That refined degree of Platonic affec-
tion which is absolutely detached from the flesh, and
is, indeed, entirely and purely spiritual, is a gift confined
to the female part of the creation ; many oi whom I
have heard declare (and, doubtless, with great truth),
that they would, with the utmost readiness, resign a
lover to a rival, when such resignation was proved to
be necessary for the temporal interest of such lover.
Hence, therefore, I conclude that this affection is in
nature, though I cannot pretend to say I have ever seen
an instance of it.
Mr Jones having spent three hours in reading and
kissing the aforesaid letter, and being, at last, in a state
of good spirits, from the last-mentioned considerations,
he agreed to carry an appointment, which he had
before made, into execution. This was, to attend Mrs
Miller, and her younger daughter, into the gallery at
the play-house, and to admit Mr Partridge as one of
the company. For as Jones had really that taste for
124 THE HISTORY OF
humour which many affect, he expected to enjoy much
entertainment in the criticisms of Partridge, from whom
he expected the simple dictates of nature, unimproved,
indeed, but likewise unadulterated, by art.
In the first row then of the first gallery did Mr
Jones, Mrs Miller, her youngest daughter, and Par-
tridge, take their places. Partridge immediately de-
clared it was the finest place he had ever been in.
When the first music was played, he said, " It was a
wonder how so many fiddlers could play at one time,
without putting one another out." While the fellow
was lighting the upper candles, he cried out to Mrs
Miller, " Look, look, madam, the very picture of the
man in the end of the common-prayer book before the
gunpowder-treason service." Nor could he help ob-
serving, with a sigh, when all the candles were lighted,
" That here were candles enough bui'nt in one night,
to keep an honest poor family for a whole twelve-
month."
As soon as the play, which was Hamlet, Prince of
Denmark, began. Partridge was all attention, nor did
he break silence till the entrance of the ghost; upon
which he asked Jones, "What man that was in the
strange dress; something," said he, "like what I have
seen in a picture. Sure it is not armour, is it ? " Jones
answered, " That is the ghost." To which Partridge
replied with a smile, " Persuade me to that, sir, if you
can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a ghost
in my life, yet I am certain I should know one, if I
saw him, better than that comes to. No, no, sir, ghosts
don't appear in such dresses as that, neither." In this
mistake, which caused much laughter in the neighbour-
hood of Partridge, he was suffered to continue, till the
scene between the ghost and Hamlet, when Partridge
gave that credit to Mr Garrick, which he had denied
to Jones, and fell into so violent a trembling, that his
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 125
knees knocked against each other. Jones asked him
what was the matter, and whether he was afraid of the
warrior upon the stage ? " O la ! sir," said he, " I
perceive now it is what you told me. I am not afraid
of anything ; for I know it is but a play. And if it
was really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a
distance, and in so much company ; and yet if I was
frightened, I am not the only person." " Why, who,"
cries Jones, " dost thou take to be such a coward here
besides thyself?" "Nay, you may call me coward if
you will ; but if that little man there upon the stage is
not frightened, I never saw any man frightened in my
life. Ay, ay : go along with you : Ay, to be sure !
Who's fool then ? Will you ? Lud have mercy upon
such fool-hardiness ! — Whatever happens, it is good
enough for you. Follow you ? I'd follow the devil
as soon. Nay, perhaps it is the devil for they say
he can put on what likeness he pleases. — Oh ! here he
is again. No farther ! No, you have gone far
enough already ; farther than I'd have gone for all the
king's dominions." Jones offered to speak, but Par-
tridge cried " Hush, hush ! dear sir, don't you hear
him ? " And during the whole speech of the ghost,
he sat with his eyes fixed partly on the ghost and
partly on Hamlet, and with his mouth open ; the
same passions which succeeded each other in Hamlet,
succeeding likewise in him.
When the scene was over Jones said, " Why, Par-
tridge, you exceed my expectations. You enjoy the
play more than I conceived possible." " Nay, sir,"
answered Partridge, " if you are not afraid of the devil,
I can't help it ; but to be sure, it is natural to be sur-
prized at such things, though I know there is nothing
in them : not that it was the ghost that surprized me,
neither ; for I should have known that to have been
only a man in a strange dress ; but when I saw the
126 THE HISTORY OF
little man so frightened himself, it was that which took
hold of me." "And dost thou imagine, then, Par-
ti'idge," cries Jones, "that he was really frightened?"
" Nay, sir," said Partridge, " did not you youi'self
observe afterwards, when he found it was his own
father's spirit, and how he was murdered in the garden,
how his fear forsook him by degrees, and he was stmck
dumb with sorrow, as it were, just as I should have
been, had it been my own case ? — But hush ! O la !
what noise is that ? There he is again. Well to
be certain, though I know there is nothing at all in it,
I am glad I am not down yonder, where those men
are." Then turning his eyes again upon Hamlet,
" Ay, you may draw your sword ; what signifies a
sword against the power of the devil ? "
During the second act, Partridge made very few
remarks. He greatly admired the fineness of the
di-esses ; nor could he help observing upon the king's
countenance. " Well," said he, " how people may be
deceived by faces ! Nulla Jides fronti is, I find, a true
saying. Who would think, by looking in the king's
face, that he had ever committed a murder ? " He
then enquired after the ghost ; but Jones, who intended
he should be surprized, gave him no other satisfaction,
than, " that he might possibly see him again soon, and
in a flash of fire."
Partridge sat in a fearful expectation of this ; and
now, when the ghost made his next appearance. Par-
tridge cried out, " There, sir, now ; what say you now ?
is he frightened now or no ? As much frightened as
you think me, and, to be sure, nobody can help some
fears. I would not be in so bad a condition as what's
his name, squire Hamlet, is there, for all the world.
Bless me ! what's become of the spirit ? As I am a
living soul, I thought I saw him sink into the earth."
** Indeed, you saw right," answered Jones. " Well,
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 27
well," cries Partridge, " I know it is only a play : and
besides, if there was anything in all this, Madam Miller
would not laugh so ; for as to you, sir, you would not
be afraid, I believe, if the devil was here in person.
— There, there — Ay, no wonder you are in such a
passion, shake the vile wicked wretch to pieces. If
she was my own mother, I would serve her so. To
be sure all duty to a mother is forfeited by such wicked
doings. Ay, go about your business, I hate the
sight of you."
Our critic was now pretty silent till the play, which
Hamlet introduces before the king. This he did not
at first understand, till Jones explained it to him ; but
he no sooner entered into the spirit of tt, than he began
to bless himself that he had never committed murder.
Then turning to Mrs Miller, he asked her, " If she
did not imagine the king looked as if he was touched ;
though he is," said he, " a good actor, and doth all
he can to hide it. Well, I would not have so much
to answer for, as that wicked man there hath, to sit
upon a much higher chair than he sits upon. No
wonder he run away ; for your sake I'll never tnast an
innocent face again."
The grave-digging scene next engaged the attention
of Partridge, who expressed much surprize at the
number of skulls thrown upon the stage. To which
Jones answered, " That it was one of the most famous
burial-places about town." "No wonder then," cries
Partridge, "that the place is haunted. But I never
saw in my life a worse grave-digger. I had a sexton,
when I was clerk, that should haye dug three graves
while he is digging one. The fellow handles a spade
as if it was the first time he had ever had one in his
hand. Ay, ay, you may sing. You had rather sing
than work, I believe." — Upon Hamlet's taking up the
skull, he cried out, " Well ! it is strange to see how
128 THE HISTORY OF
fearless some men are : I never could bring myself to
touch anything belonging to a dead man, on any
account. — He seemed frightened enough too at the
ghost, I thought. Nemo omnibus hor'is sap'if"
Little more worth remembering occurred during the
play, at the end of which Jones asked him, " Which
of the players he had liked best?" To this he
answered, with some appearance of indignation at the
question, " The king, without doubt." " Indeed, Mr
Partridge," says Mrs Miller, " you are not of the same
opinion with the town ; for they are all agreed, that
Hamlet is acted by the best player who ever was on
the stage." " He the best player ! " cries Partridge,
with a contemptuous sneer, " why, I could act as well
as he myself. I am sure, if I had seen a ghost, I
should have looked in the very same manner, and done
just as he did. And then, to be sure, in that scene,
as you called it, between him and his mother, where
you told me he acted so fine, why, Lord help me,
any man, that is, any good man, that had such a
mother, would have done exactly the same. I know
you are only joking with me ; but indeed, madam,
though I was never at a play in London, yet I have
seen acting before in the country ; and the king for
my money ; he speaks all his words distinctly, half
as loud again as the other. — Anybody may see he is
an actor."
While Mrs Miller was thus engaged in conversation
with Partridge, a lady came up to Mr Jones, whom he
immediately knew to be Mrs Fitzpatrick. She said,
she had seen him from the other part of the gallery,
and had taken that opportunity of speaking to him, as
she had something to say, which might be of great
service to himself. She then acquainted him with her
lodgings, and made him an appointment the next day
in the morning ; which, upon recollection, she presently
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 29
changed to the afternoon ; at which time Jones pro-
mised to attend her.
Thus ended the adventure at the playhouse ; where
Partridge had afforded great mirth, not only to Jones
and Mrs Miller, but to all who sat within hearing, who
were more attentive to what he said, than to anything
that passed on the stage.
He durst not go to bed all that night, for fear of
the ghost ; and for many nights after sweated two or
three hours before he went to sleep, with the same
apprehensions, and waked several times in great horrors,
crying out, " Lord have mercy upon us ! there it is."
C|)aptcr iJt.
In which the history is obliged to look Sack.
IT is almost impossible for the best parent to observe
an exact impartiality to his childi'en, even though
no superior merit should bias his affection ; but
sure a parent can hardly be blamed, when that superi-
ority determines his preference.
As I regard all the personages of this history in the
light of my children ; so I must confess the same
inclination of partiality to Sophia ; and for that I
hope the reader will allow me the same excuse, from
the superiority of her character.
This extraordinary tenderness which I have for my
heroine never suffers me to quit her any long time
without the utmost reluctance. I could now, there-
fore, return impatiently to enquire what hath happened
to this lovely creature since her departure from her
father's, but that I am obliged first to pay a short visit
toMrBlifil.
Mr Western, in the first confusion into which his
IV. I
130 THE HISTORY OF
mind was cast upon the sudden news he received of his
daughter, and in the first hurry to go after her, had
not once thought of sending any account of the dis-
covery to BHfil. He had not gone far, however,
before he recollected himself, and accordingly stopt at
the very first inn he came to, and dispatched away a
messenger to acquaint Blifil with his having found
Sophia, and with his firm resolution to marry her to
him immediately, if he would come up after him to
town.
As the love which Blifil had for Sophia was of
that violent kind, which nothing but the loss of her
fortune, or some such accident, could lessen, his in-
clination to the match was not at all altered by her
having run away, though he was obliged to lay this to
his own account. He very readily, therefore, em-
braced this offer. Indeed, he now proposed the gratifi-
cation of a very strong passion besides avarice, by
marrying this young lady, and this was hatred ; for
he concluded that matrimony afforded an equal oppor-
tunity of satisfying either hatred or love ; and this
opinion is very probably verified by much experience.
To say the truth, if we are to judge by the ordinary
behaviour of married persons to each other, we shall
perhaps be apt to conclude that the generality seek the
indulgence of the former passion only, in their union
of everything but of hearts.
There was one difficulty, however, in his way, and
this arose from Mr Allworthy. That good man,
when he found by the departure of Sophia (for neither
that, nor the cause of it, could be concealed from him),
the great aversion which she had for his nephew, began
to be seriously concerned that he had been deceived
into carrying matters so far. He by no means con-
curred with the opinion of those parents, who think
it as immaterial to consult the inclinations of their
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 13I
children in the affair of marriage, as to solicit the good
pleasure of their servants when they intend to take a
journey ; and who are by law, or decency at least,
withheld often from using absolute force. On the
contrary, as he esteemed the institution to be of the
most sacred kind, he thought every preparatory caution
necessary to preserve it holy and inviolate ; and very
wisely concluded, that the surest way to effect this was
by laying the foundation in previous affection.
Blifil indeed soon cured his uncle of all anger on the
score of deceit, by many vows and protestations that
he had been deceived himself, with which the many
declarations of Western very well tallied ; but now to
persuade Allworthy to consent to the renewing his
addresses was a matter of such apparent difficulty, that
the very appearance was sufficient to have deterred a
less enterprizing genius ; but this young gentleman so
well knew his own talents, that nothing within the pro-
vince of cunning seemed to him hard to be atchieved.
Here then he represented the violence of his own
affection, and the hopes of subduing aversion in the
lady by perseverance. He begged that, in an affair on
which depended all his future repose, he might at least
be at liberty to try all fair means for success. Heaven
forbid, he said, that he should ever think of prevailing
by any other than the most gentle methods ! " Be-
sides, sir," said he, "if they fail, you may then (which
will be surely time enough) deny your consent." He
urged the great and eager desire which Mr Western
had for the match ; and lastly, he made great use of
the name of Jones, to whom he imputed all that had
happened ; and from whom, he said, to preserve so
valuable a young lady was even an act of charity.
All these arguments were well seconded by
Thwackum, who dwelt a little stronger on the
authority of parents than Mr Blifil himself had done.
132 THE HISTORY OF
He ascribed the measures which Mr Blifil was de-
sirous to take to Christian motives; "and though,"
says he, " the good young gentleman hath mentioned
charity last, I am almost convinced it is his first and
principal consideration."
Square, possibly, had he been present, would have
sung to the same tune, though in a difFerent key, and
would have discovered much moral fitness in the pro-
ceeding : but he was now gone to Bath for the recovery
of his health.
Allworthy, though not without reluctance, at last
yielded to the desires of his nephew. He said he
would accompany him to London, where he might
be at liberty to use every honest endeavour to gain
the lady : " But I declare," said he, " I will never
give my consent to any absolute force being put on her
inclinations, nor shall you ever have her, unless she
can be brought freely to compliance."
Thus did the affection of Allworthy for his nephew
betray the superior understanding to be triumphed over
by the inferior ; and thus is the prudence of the best of
heads often defeated by the tenderness of the best of
hearts.
Blifil, having obtained this unhoped-for acquiescence
in his uncle, rested not till he carried his purpose into
execution. And as no immediate business required
Mr Allworthy's presence in the country, and little
preparation is necessary to men for a journey, they
set out the very next day, and arrived in town that
evening, when Mr Jones, as we have seen, was divert-
ing himself with Partridge at the play.
The morning after his arrival Mr Blifil waited on
Mr Western, by whom he was most kindly and gra-
ciously received, and from whom he had every possible
assurance (perhaps more than was possible) that he
should very shortly be as happy as Sophia could make
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 33
him ; nor would the squire sufFer the young gentleman
to return to his uncle till he had, almost against his
will, carried him to his sister.
In ivh'tch Mr Western pays a visit to his sister, in
company nvith Mr BlifiL
MRS Western was reading a lecture on pru-
dence, and matrimonial politics, to her niece,
when her brother and Blifil broke in with less
ceremony than the laws of visiting require. Sophia
no sooner saw Blifil than she turned pale, and almost
lost the use of all her faculties ; but her aunt, on the
contrary, waxed red, and, having all her faculties at
command, began to exert her tongue on the squire.
" Brother," said she, " I am astonished at your be-
haviour ; will you never learn any regard to decorum I
Will you still look upon every apartment as your own,
or as belonging to one of youi' country tenants ? Do
you think youi^self at liberty to invade the privacies
of women of condition, without the least decency or
notice?" "Why, what a pox is the matter now?"
quoth the squire ; " one would think I had caught you
at — " — " None of your brutality, sir, I beseech you,"
answered she. " You have surprized my poor niece
so, that she can hardly, I see, support herself. Go,
my dear, retire, and endeavour to recruit your spirits ;
for I see you have occasion." At which words
Sophia, who never received a more welcome command,
hastily withdi'ew.
" To be sure, sister," cries the squire, " you are
mad, when I have brought Mr Blifil here to court her,
to force her away."
134 THE HISTORY OF
" Sure, brother," says she, " you are worse than mad,
when you know in what situation affairs are, to 1
am sui'e I ask Mr Blifil's pardon, but he knows very
well to whom to impute so disagreeable a reception.
For my own part, I am sure I shall always be very
glad to see Mr Blifil ; but his own good sense would
not have suffered him to proceed so abruptly, had you
not compelled him to it."
Blifil bowed and stammered, and looked like a fool ;
but Western, without giving him time to form a speech
for the purpose, answered, " Well, well, I am to blame,
if you will, I always am, certainly ; but come, let the
girl be fetched back again, or let Mr Blifil go to her.
He's come up on purpose, and there is no time to
be lost."
"Brother," cries Mrs Western, "Mr Blifil, I am
confident, understands himself better than to think of
seeing my niece any more this morning, alter what
hath happened. Women are of a nice contexture ;
and our spirits, when disordered, are not to be recom-
posed in a moment. Had you suffered Mr Blifil to
have sent his compliments to my niece, and to have
desired the favour of waiting on her in the afternoon,
I should possibly have prevailed on her to have seen
him ; but now I despair of bringing about any such
matter."
" I am very sorry, madam," cried Blifil, " that Mr
Western's extraordinary kindness to me, which I can
never enough acknowledge, should have occasioned — "
" Indeed, sir," said she, interrupting him, " you need
make no apologies, we all know my brother so well."
" I don't care what anybody knows of me," answered
the squire ; " but when must he come to see her ?
for, consider, I tell you, he is come up on pui-pose, and
so is Allworthy." — " Brother," said she, " whatever
message Mr Blifil thinks proper to send to my niece
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 35
shall be delivered to her ; and I suppose she will want
no instructions to make a proper answer. I am con-
vinced she will not refuse to see Mr Blifil at a proper
time." — "The devil she won't!" answered the
squire. — " Odsbud ! — Don't we know — I say nothing,
but some volk are wiser than all the world. If
I might have had my will, she had not nan away be-
fore : and now I expect to hear every moment she is
guone again. For as great a fool as some volk think
me, I know very well she hates " " No matter,
brother," replied Mrs Western, " I will not hear my
niece abused. It is a reflection on my family. She is
an honour to it ; and she will be an honour to it, I
promise you. I will pawn my whole reputation in the
world on her conduct. 1 shall be glad to see you,
brother, in the afternoon ; for I have somewhat of im-
portance to mention to you. — At present, Mr Blifil, as
well as you, must excuse me ; for I am in haste to
dress." " Well, but," said the squire, " do appoint a
time." " Indeed," said she, " I can appoint no time.
I tell you I will see you in the afternoon." — "What
the devil would you have me do ? " cries the squire,
turning to Blifil ; " I can no more turn her, than a
beagle can turn an old hare. Perhaps she will be in a
better humour in the afternoon." — " I am condemned,
I see, sir, to misfortune," answered Blifil ; " but I
shall always own my obligations to you." He then
took a ceremonious leave of Mrs Western, who was
altogether as ceremonious on her part ; and then they
departed, the squire muttering to himself with an oath,
that Blifil should see his daughter in the afternoon.
If Mr Western was little pleased with this inter-
view, Blifil was less. As to the former, he imputed
the whole behaviour of his sister to her humour only,
and to her dissatisfaction at the omission of ceremony
in the visit ; but Blifil saw a little deeper into things.
1^6 THE HISTORY OF
He suspected somewhat of more consequence, from two
or three words which dropt from the lady ; and, to say
the truth, he suspected right, as will appear when I
have unfolded the several matters which will be con-
tained in the following chapter.
€I)apter toiti.
Schemes of Lady Bellaston for the ruin of Jones.
LOVE had taken too deep a root in the mind of
^ Lord Fellamar to be plucked up by the rude
hands of Mr Western. In the heat of resent-
ment he had, indeed, given a commission to Captain
Egglane, which the captain had far exceeded in the
execution ; nor had it been executed at all, had his
lordship been able to find the captain after he had
seen Lady Bellaston, which was in the afternoon of
the day after he had received the affront ; but so
industrious was the captain in the discharge of his
duty, that, having after long enquiry found out the
squire's lodgings very late in the evening, he sat up
all night at a tavern, that he might not miss the squire
in the morning, and by that means missed the revoca-
tion which my lord had sent to his lodgings.
In the afternoon then next after the intended rape of
Sophia, his lordship, as we have said, made a visit to
Lady Bellaston, who laid open so much of the char-
acter of the squire, that his lordship plainly saw the
absurdity he had been guilty of in taking any offence
at his words, especially as he had those honourable
designs on his daughter. He then unbosomed the
violence of his passion to Lady Bellaston, who readily
undertook the cause, and encoui-aged him with certain
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 37
assurance of a most favourable reception from all the
ciders of the family, and from the father himself
when he should be sober, and should be made ac-
quainted with the nature of the offer made to his
daughter. The only danger, she said, lay in the fellow
she had formerly mentioned, who, though a beggar and
a vagabond, had, by some means or other, she knew
not what, procured himself tolerable cloaths, and past
for a gentleman. " Now," says she, " as I have, for
the sake of my cousin, made it my business to enquire
after this fellow, I have luckily found out his lodgings ; "
with which she then acquainted his lordship. " I am
thinking, my lord," added she " (for this fellow is too
mean for your personal resentment), whether it would
not be possible for your lordship to contrive some
method of having him pressed and sent on board a
ship. Neither law nor conscience forbid this project :
for the fellow, I promise you, however well drest, is
but a vagabond, and as proper as any fellow in the
streets to be pressed into the service ; and as for the
conscientious part, surely the preservation of a young
lady from such ruin is a most meritorious act ; nay,
with regard to the fellow himself, unless he could
succeed (which Heaven forbid) with my cousin, it
may probably be the means of preserving him from
the gallows, and perhaps may make his fortune in an
honest way."
Lord Fellamar very heartily thanked her ladyship
for the part which she was pleased to take in the
affair, upon the success of which his whole future
happiness entirely depended. He said, he saw at
present no objection to the pressing scheme, and would
consider of putting it in execution. He then most
earnestly recommended to her ladyship to do him the
honour of immediately mentioning his proposals to the
family ; to whom he said he offered a carte blanche.
138 THE HISTORY OF
and would settle his fortune in almost any manner they
should require. And after uttering many ecstasies and
raptures concerning Sophia, he took his leave and
departed, but not before he had received the strongest
charge to beware of Jones, and to lose no time in
secui-ing his person, where he should no longer be in
a capacity of making any attempts to the ruin of the
young lady.
The moment Mrs Western was arrived at her
lodgings, a card was despatched with her compliments
to Lady Bellaston ; who no sooner received it than,
with the impatience of a lover, she flew to her cousin,
rejoiced at this fair opportunity, which beyond her
hopes offered itself, for she was much better pleased
with the prospect of making the proposals to a woman
of sense, and who knew the world, than to a gentleman
whom she honoured with the appellation of Hottentot;
though, indeed, from him she apprehended no danger of
a refusal.
The two ladies being met, after very short previous
ceremonials, fell to business, which was indeed almost
as soon concluded as begun; for Mrs Western no
sooner heard the name of Lord Fellamar than her
cheeks glowed with pleasure ; but when she was ac-
quainted with the eagerness of his passion, the earnest-
ness of his proposals, and the generosity of his offer,
she declared her full satisfaction in the most explicit
terms.
In the progress of their conversation their discourse
turned to Jones, and both cousins very pathetically
lamented the unfortunate attachment which both agreed
Sophia had to that young fellow ; and Mrs Western
entirely attributed it to the folly of her brother's
management. She concluded, however, at last, with
declaring her confidence in the good understanding of
her niece, who, though she would not give up her
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING, 1 39
affection in favour of Blifil, will, I doubt not, says she,
soon be prevailed upon to sacrifice a simple inclination
to the addresses of a fine gentleman, who brings her
both a title and a large estate : " For, indeed," added
she, " I must do Sophy the justice to confess this
Blifil is but a hideous kind of fellow, as you know,
Bellaston, all country gentlemen are, and hath nothing
but his fortune to recommend him."
" Nay," said Lady Bellaston, " I don't then so
much wonder at my cousin ; for I promise you this
Jones is a very agreeable fellow, and hath one virtue,
which the men say is a great recommendation to us.
What do you think, Mrs Western — I shall certainly
make you laugh ; nay, I can hardly tell you myself
for laughing — will you believe that the fellow hath had
the assurance to make love to me ? But if you should
be inclined to disbelieve it, here is evidence enough, his
own handwriting, I assure you." She then delivered
her cousin the letter with the proposals of marriage,
which, if the reader hath a desire to see, he will find
already on record in the XV th book of this history.
" Upon my word I am astonished," said Mrs
Western ; " this is, indeed, a masterpiece of assui"ance.
With your leave I may possibly make some use of this
letter." "You have my full liberty," cries Lady
Bellaston, " to apply it to what purpose you please.
However, I would not have it shewn to any but
Miss Western, nor to her unless you find occasion."
"Well, and how did you use the fellow?" returned
Mrs Western. " Not as a husband," said the lady ;
" I am not married, I promise you, my dear. You
know. Bell, I have tried the comforts once already;
and once, I think, is enough for any reasonable
woman."
This letter Lady Bellaston thought would certainly
turn the balance against Jones in the mind of Sophia,
140 THE HISTORY OF
and she was emboldened to give it up, partly by her
hopes of having him instantly dispatched out of the
way, and partly by having secured the evidence of
Honour, who, upon sounding her, she saw sufficient
reason to imagine was prepared to testify whatever she
pleased.
But perhaps the reader may wonder why Lady Bel-
laston, who in her heart hated Sophia, should be so
desirous of promoting a match which was so much to
the interest of the young lady. Now, I would desire
such readers to look carefully into human nature, page
almost the last, and there he will find, in scarce legible
characters, that women, notwithstanding the prepos-
terous behaviour of mothers, aunts, &c., in matrimonial
matters, do in reality think it so great a misfortune
to have their inclinations in love thwarted, that they
imagine they ought never to carry enmity higher than
upon these disappointments ; again, he will find it
written much about the same place, that a woman who
hath once been pleased with the possession of a man,
will go above halfway to the devil, to prevent any
other woman from enjoying the same.
If he will not be contented with these reasons, I
freely confess I see no other motive to the actions of
that lady, unless we will conceive she was bribed by
Lord Fellamar, which for my own part I see no cause
to suspect.
Now this was the affair which Mrs Western was
preparing to introduce to Sophia, by some prefatory
discourse on the folly of love, and on the wisdom of
legal prostitution for hire, when her brother and Blifil
broke abruptly in upon her ; and hence arose all that
coldness in her behaviour to Blifil, which, though the
squire, as was usual with him, imputed to a wrong
cause, infused into Blifil himself (he being a much
more cunning man) a suspicion of the real truth.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 141
In tvh'ich Jones pays a visit to Mrs Fitzpatrick.
THE reader may now, perhaps, be pleased to return
with us to Mr Jones, who, at the appointed
hour, attended on Mrs Fitzpatrick ; but before
we relate the conversation which now past it may be
proper, according to our method, to return a Httle back,
and to account for so great an alteration of behaviour
in this lady, that from changing her lodging principally
to avoid Mr Jones, she had now industriously, as hath
been seen, sought this interview.
And here we shall need only to resort to what
happened the preceding day, when, hearing from Lady
Bellaston that Mr Western was arrived in town, she
went to pay her duty to him, at his lodgings at Picca-
dilly, where she was received with many scurvy com-
pellations too coarse to be repeated, and was even
threatened to be kicked out of doors. From hence,
an old servant of her aunt Western, with whom she
was well acquainted, conducted her to the lodgings of
that lady, who treated her not more kindly, but more
politely ; or, to say the truth, with rudeness in another
way. In short, she returned from both, plainly con-
vinced, not only that her scheme of reconciliation had
proved abortive, but that she must for ever give over
all thoughts of bringing it about by any means what-
ever. From this moment desire of revenge only filled
her mind ; and in this temper meeting Jones at the
play, an opportunity seemed to her to occur of effecting
this purpose.
The reader must remember that he was acquainted
by Mrs Fitzpatrick, in the account she gave of her
own story, with the fondness Mrs Western had formerly
shewn for Mr Fitzpatrick at Bath, from the disappoint-
142 THE HISTORY OF
ment of which Mrs Fitzpatrick derived the great bitter-
ness her aunt had expressed toward her. She had,
therefore, no doubt but that the good lady would as
easUy listen to the addresses of Mr Jones as she had
before done to the other ; for the superiority of charms
was clearly on the side of Mr Jones ; and the advance
which her aunt had since made in age, she concluded
(how justly I will not say), was an argument rather in
favour of her project than against it.
Therefore, when Jones attended, after a previous
declaration of her desire of serving him, arising, as she
said, from a firm assurance how much she should by so
doing oblige Sophia ; and after some excuses for her
former disappointment, and after acquainting Mr Jones
in whose custody his mistress was, of which she thought
him ignorant ; she very explicitly mentioned her scheme
to him, and advised him to make sham addresses to
the older lady, in order to procure an easy access to
the younger, informing him at the same time of the
success which Mr Fitzpatrick had formerly owed to
the very same stratagem.
Mr Jones expressed great gratitude to the lady for
the kind intentions towards him which she had ex-
pressed, and indeed testified, by this proposal ; but,
besides intimating some diffidence of success from the
lady's knowledge of his love to her niece, which had
not been her case in regard to Mr Fitzpatrick, he said,
he was afraid Miss Western would never agree to an
imposition of this kind, as well from her utter detesta-
tion of all fallacy as from her avowed duty to her
aunt.
Mrs Fitzpatrick was a little nettled at this ; and
indeed, if it may not be called a lapse of the tongue, it
was a small deviation from politeness in Jones, and into
which he scarce would have fallen, had not the delight
he felt in praising Sophia hurried him out of all reflec-
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 43
tion ; for this commendation of one cousin was more
than a tacit rebuke on the other.
" Indeed, sir," answered the lady, with some warmth,
" I cannot think there is anything easier than to cheat an
old woman with a profession of love, when her com-
plexion is amorous ; and, though she is my aunt, I
must say there never was a more liquorish one than her
ladyship. Can't you pretend that the despair of pos-
sessing her niece, from her being promised to Blifil,
has made you turn your thoughts towards her ? As
to my cousin Sophia, I can't imagine her to be such
a simpleton as to have the least scruple on such an
account, or to conceive any harm in punishing one of
these haggs for the many mischiefs they bring upon
families by their tragi-comic passions ; for which I
think it is a pity they are not punishable by law. I
had no such scruple myself; and yet I hope my cousin
Sophia will not think it an affront when I say she
cannot detest every real species of falsehood more than
her cousin Fitzpatrick. To my aunt, indeed, I pretend
no duty, nor doth she deserve any. However, sir, I
have given you my advice ; and if you decline poi'suing
it, I shall have the less opinion of your understanding
—that's all."
Jones now clearly saw the error he had committed,
and exerted his utmost power to rectify it ; but he only
faultered and stuttered into nonsense and contradiction.
To say the truth, it is often safer to abide by the con-
sequences of the first blunder than to endeavour to
rectify it ; for by such endeavours we generally plunge
deeper instead of extricating ourselves ; and few persons
will on such occasions have the good-nature which Mrs
Fitzpatrick displayed to Jones, by saying, with a smile,
" You need attempt no more excuses ; for I can easily
forgive a real lover, whatever is the effect of fondness
for his mistress."
144 THE HISTORY OF
She then renewed her proposal, and very fervently
recommended it, omitting no argument which her in-
vention could suggest on the subject ; for she was so
violently incensed against her aunt, that scarce any-
thing was capable of affording her equal pleasure with
exposing her ; and, like a true woman, she would see
no difEculties in the execution of a favourite scheme.
Jones, however, persisted in declining the under-
taking, which had not, indeed, the least probability of
success. He easily perceived the motives which in-
duced Mrs Fitzpatrick to be so eager in pressing her
advice. He said he would not deny the tender and
passionate regard he had for Sophia; but was so
conscious of the inequality of their situations, that he
could never flatter himself so far as to hope that so
divine a young lady would condescend to think on so
unworthy a man ; nay, he protested, he could scarce
bring himself to wish she should. He concluded with
a profession of generous sentiments, which we have not
at present leisure to insert.
There are some fine women (for I dare not here
speak in too general terms) with whom self is so pre-
dominant, that they never detach it from any subject ;
and, as vanity is with them a ruling principle, they are
apt to lay hold of whatever praise they meet with ;
and, though the property of others, convey it to their
own use. In the company of these ladies it is im-
possible to say anything handsome of another woman
which they will not apply to themselves ; nay, they
often improve the praise they seize ; as, for instance,
if her beauty, her wit, her gentility, her good humour
deserve so much commendation, what do I deserve,
who possess those qualities in so much more eminent
a degree ?
To these ladies a man often recommends himself
while he is commending another woman ; and, while
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 45
he is expressing ardour and generous sentiments for
his mistress, they are considering what a charming
lover this man would make to them, who can feel
all this tenderness for an inferior degree of merit. Of
this, strange as it may seem, I have seen many in-
stances besides Mrs Fitzpatrick, to whom all this
really happened, and who now began to feel a some-
what for Mr Jones, the symptoms of which she much
sooner understood than poor Sophia had formerly done.
To say the truth, perfect beauty in both sexes is a
more irresistible object than it is generally thought;
for, notwithstanding some of us are contented with
more homely lots, and learn by rote (as children to
repeat what gives them no idea) to despise outside,
and to value more solid charms ; yet I have always
observed, at the approach of consummate beauty, that
these more solid charms only shine with that kind
of lustre which the stars have after the rising of
the sun.
When Jones had finished his exclamations, many of
which would have become the mouth of Oroondates
himself, Mrs Fitzpatrick heaved a deep sigh, and,
taking her eyes off from Jones, on whom they had
been some time fixed, and dropping them on the
ground, she cried, " Indeed, Mr Jones, I pity you ;
but it is the curse of such tenderness to be thrown
away on those who are insensible of it. I know my
cousin better than you, Mr Jones, and I must say, any
woman who makes no return to such a passion, and
such a person, is unworthy of both,"
"Sure, madam," said Jones, "you can't mean "
" Mean ! " cries Mrs Fitzpatrick, " I know not what
I mean ; there is something, I think, in true tenderness
bewitching ; few women ever meet with it in men, and
fewer still know how to value it when they do. I
never heard such tmly noble sentiments, and I can't
IV. K
146 THE HISTORY OF
tell how it is, but you force one to believe you. Sure
she must be the most contemptible of women who can
overlook such merit."
The manner and look with which all this was spoke
infused a suspicion into Jones which we don't care to
convey in direct words to the reader. Instead of
making any answer, he said, " I am afraid, madam, I
have made too tiresome a visit ; " and offered to take
his leave.
" Not at all, sir," answered Mrs Fitzpatrick.
" Indeed I pity you, Mr Jones ; indeed I do : but if
you are going, consider of the scheme I have men-
tioned— I am convinced you will approve it — and let
me see you again as soon as you can. — To-morrow
morning if you will, or at least some time to-morrow.
I shall be at home all day."
Jones, then, after many expressions of thanks, very
respectfully retired; nor could Mrs Fitzpatrick forbear
making him a present of a look at parting, by which if
he had understood nothing, he must have had no under-
standing in the language of the eyes. In reality, it
confirmed his resolution of retui-ning to her no more ;
for, faulty as he hath hitherto appeared in this history,
his whole thoughts were now so confined to his Sophia,
that I believe no woman upon earth could have now
drawn him into an act of inconstancy.
Fortune, however, who was not his friend, resolved,
as he intended to give her no second opportunity, to
make the best of this ; and accordingly produced the
tragical incident which we are now in sorrowful notes
to record.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 47
The consequence of the preceding ■visit.
MR FiTZPATRiCK having received the letter before
mentioned from Mrs Western, and being by
that means acquainted with the place to which
his wife was retired, returned directly to Bath, and
thence the day after set forward to London.
The reader hath been already often informed of the
jealous temper of this gentleman. He may likewise be
pleased to remember the suspicion which he had con-
ceived of Jones at Upton, upon his finding him in the
room with Mrs Waters ; and, though sufficient reasons
had afterwards appeared entirely to clear up that sus-
picion, yet now the reading so handsome a character
of Mr Jones from his wife, caused him to reflect that
she likewise was in the inn at the same time, and
jumbled together such a confusion of circumstances in
a head which was naturally none of the clearest, that
the whole produced that green-eyed monster mentioned
by Shakespear in his tragedy of Othello.
And now, as he was enquiring in the street after his
wife, and had just received directions to the door, un-
fortunately Mr Jones was issuing from it.
Fitzpatrick did not yet recollect the face of Jones ;
however, seeing a young well-dressed fellow coming
from his wife, he made directly up to him, and asked
him what he had been doing in that house ? " for I
am sure," said he, " you must have been in it, as I
saw you come out of it."
Jones answered very modestly, " That he had been
visiting a lady there." To which Fitzpatrick replied,
" What business have you with the lady ? " Upon
which Jones, who now perfectly remembered the voice,
features, and indeed coat, of the gentleman, cried out
148 THE HISTORY OF
Ha, my good friend ! give me your hand ; I
hope there is no ill blood remaining between us, upon
a small mistake which happened so long ago."
" Upon my soul, sir," said Fitzpatrick, " I don't
know your name nor your face." " Indeed, sir," said
Jones, " neither have I the pleasure of knowing your
name, but your face I very well remember to have seen
before at Upton, where a foolish quarrel happened
between us, which, if it is not made up yet, we will
now make up over a bottle."
" At Upton ! " cried the other ; " Ha ! upon my
soul, I believe your name is Jones ? " " Indeed,"
answered he, " it is." — " O ! upon my soul," cries
Fitzpatrick, " you are the very man I wanted to meet.
— Upon my soul I will drink a bottle with you pre-
sently; but first I will give you a great knock over
the pate. There is for you, you rascal. Upon my
soul, if you do not give me satisfaction for that blow,
I will give you another." And then, drawing his
sword, put himself in a posture of defence, which was
the only science he understood.
Jones was a little staggered by the blow, which
came somewhat unexpectedly ; but presently recover-
ing himself he also di-ew, and though he understood
nothing of fencing, prest on so boldly upon Fitzpatrick,
that he beat down his guard, and sheathed one half of
his sword in the body of the said gentleman, who had
no sooner received it than he stept backwards, dropped
the point of his sword, and leaning upon it, cried, " I
have satisfaction enough : I am a dead man."
" I hope not," cries Jones, " but whatever be the
consequence, you must be sensible you have drawn it
upon yourself." At this instant a number of fellows
rushed in and seized Jones, who told them he should
make no resistance, and begged some of them at least
would take care of the wounded gentleman.
- 1 ,////i,i<i '/ tt/i//,i/:) 7f/Meay.ii. l/'jeiAeti 'ycn/'j.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 149
" Ay," cries one of the fellows, " the wounded
gentleman will be taken care enough of; for I suppose
he hath not many hours to live. As for you, sir, you
have a month at least good yet." " D — n me. Jack,"
said another, " he hath prevented his voyage ; he's
bound to another port now ; " and many other such
jests was our poor Jones made the subject of by these
fellows, who were indeed the gang employed by Lord
Fellamar, and had dogged him into the house of Mrs
Fitzpatrick, waiting for him at the corner of the street
when this unfortunate accident happened.
The officer who commanded this gang very wisely
concluded that his business was now to deliver his
prisoner into the hands of the civil magistrate. He
ordered him, therefore, to be carried to a public-house,
where, having sent for a constable, he delivered him
to his custody.
The constable, seeing Mr Jones very well drest, and
hearing that the accident had happened in a duel,
treated his prisoner with great civility, and at his re-
quest dispatched a messenger to enquire after the
wounded gentleman, who was now at a tavern under
the surgeon's hands. The report brought back was,
that the wound was certainly mortal, and there were
no hopes of life. Upon which the constable informed
Jones that he must go before a justice. He answered,
" Wherever you please ; I am indifferent as to what
happens to me ; for though I am convinced I am not
guilty of murder in the eye ot the law, yet the weight
of blood I find intolerable upon my mind."
Jones was now conducted before the justice, where
the surgeon who dressed Mr Fitzpatrick appeared, and
deposed that he believed the wound to be mortal ; upon
which the prisoner was committed to the Gatehouse.
It was very late at night, so that Jones would not send
for Partridge till the next morning ; and, as he never
150 THE HISTORY OF TOM JONES.
shut his eyes till seven, so it was near twelve before the
poor fellow, who was greatly frightened at not hearing
from his master so long, received a message which
almost deprived him of his being when he heard it.
He went to the Gatehouse with trembling knees and
a beating heart, and was no sooner arrived in the pre-
sence of Jones than he lamented the misfortune that
had befallen him with many tears, looking all the while
frequently about him in great terror ; for as the news
now arrived that Mr Fitzpatrick was dead, the poor
fellow apprehended every minute that his ghost would
enter the room. At last he delivered him a letter,
which he had like to have forgot, and which came
from Sophia by the hands of Black George.
Jones presently dispatched every one out of the
room, and, having eagerly broke open the letter, read
as follows : —
*' You owe the hearing from me again to an accident
which I own surprizes me. My aunt hath just now
shown me a letter from you to Lady Bellaston, which
contains a proposal of marriage. I am convinced it is
your own hand ; and what more surprizes me is, that
it is dated at the very time when you would have me
imagine you was under such concern on my account. —
I leave you to comment on this fact. All I desire is,
that your name may never more be mentioned to
" S. W."
Of the present situation of Mr Jones's mind, and
of the pangs with which he was now tormented, we
cannot give the reader a better idea than by saying, his
misery was such that even Thwackum would almost
have pitied him. But, bad as it is, we shall at present
leave him in it, as his good genius (if he really had any)
seems to have done. And here we put an end to the
sixteenth book of our history.
BOOK XVII.
CONTAINING THREE DAYS.
Containing a portion of introductory 'writing.
WHEN a comic writer hath made his principal
characters as happy as he can, or when a
tragic writer hath brought them to the
highest pitch of human misery, they both conclude
their business to be done, and that their work is come
to a period.
Had we been of the tragic complexion, the reader
must now allow we were very nearly arrived at this
period, since it would be difficult for the devil, or any
of his representatives on earth, to have contrived much
greater torments for poor Jones than those in which
we left him in the last chapter ; and as for Sophia,
a good-natured woman would hardly wish more un-
easiness to a rival than what she must at present be
supposed to feel. What then remains to complete
the tragedy but a murder or two and a few moral
sentences !
But to bring our favourites out of their present
anguish and distress, and to land them at last on
the shore of happiness, seems a much harder task. ;
152 THE HISTORY OF
a task indeed so hard that we do not undertake to
execute it. In regard to Sophia, it is more than
probable that we shall somewhere or other provide
a good husband for her in the end — either Blifil, or
my lord, or somebody else ; but as to poor Jones,
such are the calamities in which he is at present
involved, owing to his imprudence, by which if a
man doth not become felon to the word, he is at
least a felo de se ; so destitute is he now of friends,
and so persecuted by enemies, that we almost despair
of bringing him to any good ; and if our reader
delights in seeing executions, I think he ought not
to lose any time in taking a first row at Tyburn.
This I faithfully promise, that, notwithstanding any
affection which we may be supposed to have for this
rogue, whom we have unfortunately made our heroe, we
will lend him none of that supernatural assistance with
which we are entrusted, upon condition that we use it
only on very important occasions. If he doth not
therefore find some natural means of fairly extricating
himself from all his distresses, we will do no violence
to the truth and dignity of history for his sake ; for we
had rather relate that he was hanged at Tyburn (which
may very probably be the case) than forfeit our in-
tegrity, or shock the faith of our reader.
In this the antients had a great advantage over the
moderns. Their mythology, which was at that time
more firmly believed by the vulgar than any religion is
at present, gave them always an opportunity of deliver-
ing a favourite heroe. Their deities were always ready
at the writer's elbow, to execute any of his purposes ;
and the more extraordinary the invention was, the
greater was the surprize and delight of the credulous
reader. Those writers could with greater ease have
conveyed a heroe from one country to another, nay from
one world to another, and have brought him back
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 53
again, than a poor circumscribed modem can deliver
him from a jail.
The Arabians and Persians had an equal advantage
in writing their tales from the genii and fairies, which
they believe in as an article of their faith, upon the
authority of the Koran itself. But we have none of
these helps. To natural means alone we are confined ;
let us try therefore what, by these means, may be done
for poor Jones ; though to confess the truth, something
whispers me in the ear that he doth not yet know the
worst of his fortune ; and that a more shocking piece
of news than any he hath yet heard remains for him in
the unopened leaves of fate.
Cl^apter if.
The generous and grateful behaviour of Mrs Miller.
MR Allworthy and Mrs Miller were just sat
down to breakfast, when Blifil, who had gone
out very early that morning, returned to make
one of the company.
He had not been long seated before he began as
follows : " Good Lord ! my dear uncle, what do you
think hath happened ? I vow I am afraid of telling it
you, for fear of shocking you with the remembrance
of ever having shewn any kindness to such a villain."
" What is the matter, child ? " said the uncle. " I
fear I have shewn kindness in my life to the unworthy
more than once. But charity doth not adopt the vices
of its objects." " O, sir ! " returned Blifil, " it is not
without the secret direction of Providence that you
mention the word adoption. Your adopted son, sir,
that Jones, that wretch whom you nourished in your
154 THE HISTORY OF
bosom, hath proved one of the greatest villains upon
earth." " By all that's sacred 'tis false," cries Mrs
Miller. " Mr Jones is no villain. He is one of the
worthiest creatures breathing ; and if any other person
had called him villain, I would have thrown all this
boiling water in his face." Mr Allworthy looked very
much amazed at this behaviour. But she did not give
him leave to speak, before, turning to him, she cried,
" I hope you will not be angry with me ; I would not
offend you, sir, for the world ; but, indeed, I could not
bear to hear him called so." " I must own, madam,"
said Allworthy, very gravely, " I am a little surprized
to hear you so warmly defend a fellow you do not
know." " O ! I do know him, Mr Allworthy," said
she, " indeed I do ; I should be the most ungrateful of
all wretches if I denied it. O ! he hath preserved me
and my little family ; we have all reason to bless him
while we live. — And I pray Heaven to bless him, and
turn the hearts of his malicious enemies. I know, I
find, I see, he hath such." " You swprize me, madam,
still more," said Allworthy ; " sure you must mean
some other. It is impossible you should have any such
obligations to the man my nephew mentions." " Too
surely," answered she, " I have obligations to him of
the greatest and tenderest kind. He hath been the
preserver of me and mine. Believe me, sir, he hath
been abused, grossly abused to you ; I know he hath,
or you, whom I know to be all goodness and honour,
would not, after the many kind and tender things I
have heard you say of this poor helpless child, have so
disdainfully called him fellow. — Indeed, my best of
friends, he deserves a kinder appellation from you, had
you heard the good, the kind, the grateful things which
I have heard him utter of you. He never mentions
your name but with a sort of adoration. In this very
room I have seen him on his knees, imploring ail the
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 55
blessings of heaven upon your head. I do not love that
child there better than he loves you."
" I see, sir, now," said Blifil, with one of those
grinning sneers with which the devil marks his best
beloved, " Mrs Miller really doth know him. I sup-
pose you will find she is not the only one of your
acquaintance to whom he hath exposed you. As for
my character, I perceive, by some hints she hath
thrown out, he hath been very free with it, but I for-
give him." "And the Lord forgive you, sir! " said
Mrs Miller ; " we have all sins enough to stand in
need of his forgiveness."
" Upon my word, Mrs Miller," said Allworthy,
" I do not take this behaviom* of yours to my nephew
kindly ; and I do assure you, as any reflections which
you cast upon him must come only from that wickedest
of men, they would only serve, if that were possible,
to heighten my resentment against him : for I must
tell you, Mrs Miller, the young man who now stands
before you hath ever been the warmest advocate for the
ungrateful wretch whose cause you espouse. This,
I think, when you hear it from my own mouth, will
make you wonder at so much baseness and ingrati-
tude."
" You are deceived, sir," answered Mrs Miller ;
" if they were the last words which were to issue from
my lips, I would say you were deceived ; and I once
more repeat it, the Lord forgive those who have
deceived you ! I do not pretend to say the young
man is without faults ; but they are all the faults of
wildness and of youth ; faults which he may, nay,
which I am certain he will, relinquish, and, if he
should not, they are vastly overbalanced by one of the
most humane, tender, honest hearts that ever man was
blest with."
« Indeed, Mrs Miller," said Allworthy, " had this
156 THE HISTORY OF
been related of you, I should not have believed it."
" Indeed, sir," answered she, " you will believe every-
thing I have said, I am sure you will : and when you
have heard the story which I shall tell you (for I will
tell you all), you will be so far from being offended, that
you will own (I know your justice so well), that I
must have been the most despicable and most ungrate-
ful of wretches if I had acted any other part than I
have."
"Well, madam," said Allworthy, " I shall be very
glad to hear any good excuse for a behaviour which, I
must confess, I think wants an excuse. And now,
madam, will you be pleased to let my nephew proceed
in his story without interruption. He would not have
introduced a matter of slight consequence with such a
preface. Perhaps even this story will cui'e you of your
mistake."
Mrs Miller gave tokens of submission, and then Mr
Blifil began thus : " I am sure, sir, if you don't think
proper to resent the ill-usage of Mrs Miller, I shall
easily forgive what affects me only. I think your
goodness hath not deserved this indignity at her
hands." "Well, child," said Allworthy, " but what
is this new instance ? What hath he done of late ? "
" What," cries BHfil, " notwithstanding all Mrs Miller
hath said, I am very sorry to relate, and what you
should never have heard from me, had it not been a
matter impossible to conceal from the whole world.
In short he hath killed a man ; I will not say murdered
— for perhaps it may not be so construed in law, and I
hope the best for his sake."
Allworthy looked shocked, and blessed himself;
and then, turning to Mrs Miller, he cried, "Well,
madam, what say you now ? "
"Why, I say, sir," answered she, "that I never
was more concerned at anything in my life ; but, if the
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 57
fact be true, I am convinced the man, whoever he is,
was in fault. Heaven knows there are many villains
in this town who make it their business to provoke
young gentlemen. Nothing but the greatest provocation
could have tempted him ; for of all the gentlemen I
ever had in my house, I never saw one so gentle or so
sweet-tempered. He was beloved by every one in the
house, and every one who came near it."
While she was thus running on, a violent knocking
at the door interrupted their conversation, and pre-
vented her from proceeding further, or from receiving
any answer ; for, as she concluded this was a visitor to
Mr Allworthy, she hastily retired, taking with her her
little girl, whose eyes were all over blubbered at the
melancholy news she heard of Jones, who used to
call her his little wife, and not only gave her many
playthings, but spent whole hours in playing with her
himself.
Some readers may, perhaps, be pleased with these
minute circumstances, in relating of which we follow
the example of Plutarch, one of the best of our brother
historians ; and others, to whom they may appear
trivial, will, we hope, at least pardon them, as we are
never prolix on such occasions.
Copter iiu
The arrmal of Mr Western, 'with some matters con-
cerning the paternal authority.
MRS Miller had not long left the room when
Mr Western entered ; but not before a small
wrangling bout had passed between him and
his chairmen ; for the fellows, who had taken up their
burden at the Hercules Pillars, had conceived no hopes
158 THE HISTORY OF
of having any future good customer in the squire ; and
they were moreover farther encouraged by his gener-
osity (for he had given them of his own accord sixpence
more than their fare) ; they therefore very boldly de-
manded another shilling, which so provoked the squire,
that he not only bestowed many liearty curses on them
at the door, but retained his anger after he came into
the room ; swearing that all the Londoners were like
the court, and thought of nothing but plundering
country gentlemen. " D — n me," says he, " if I
won't walk in the rain rather than get into one of their
hand-barrows again. They have jolted me more in a
mile than Brown Bess would in a long fox-chase."
When his wi'ath on this occasion was a little appeased,
he resumed the same passionate tone on another.
"There," says he, "there is fine business forwards
now. The hounds have changed at last ; and when
we imagined we had a fox to deal with, od-rat it, it
turns out to be a badger at last ! "
" Pray, my good neighbour," said AUworthy, " di'op
your metaphors, and speak a little plainer." " Why,
then," says the squire, " to tell you plainly, we have
been all this time afraid of a son of a whore of a bas-
tard of somebody's, I don't know whose, not I. And
now here's a confounded son of a whore of a lord, who
may be a bastard too for what I know or care, for he shall
never have a daughter of mine by my consent. They
have beggared the nation, but they shall never beggar
me. My land shall never be sent over to Hanover."
"You surprize me much, my good friend," said
AUworthy. " Why, zounds ! I am surprized my-
self," answered the squire. " I went to zee sister
Western last night, according to her own appointment,
and there I was had into a whole room full of women.
There was my lady cousin Bellaston, and my Lady
Betty, and my Lady Catherine, and my lady I don't
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 59
know who ; d — n me, if ever you catch me among
such a kennel of hoop-petticoat b — s ! D — n me, I'd
rather be run by my own dogs, as one Acton was, that
the story-book says was turned into a hare, and his own
dogs killed un and eat un. Od-rabbit it, no mortal
was ever run in such a manner ; if I dodged one way,
one had me ; if I offered to clap back, another snapped
me. * O ! certainly one of the greatest matches in
England,' says one cousin (here he attempted to mimic
them) ; 'A very advantageous offer indeed,' cries an-
other cousin (for you must know they be all my cousins,
thof I never zeed half o' um before). ' Surel}^,' says
that fat a — se b — , my Lady Bellaston, ' cousin, you
must be out of your wits to think of refusing such an
offer.' "
" Now I begin to understand," says Allworthy ;
" some person hath made proposals to Miss Vv'estern,
which the ladies of the family approve, but is not to
your liking."
" My liking ! " said Western, " how the devil
should it ? I tell you it is a lord, and those are always
volks whom you know I always resolved to have no-
thing to do with. Did unt I refuse a matter of vorty
years' purchase now for a bit of land, which one o' um
had a mind to put into a park, only because I would
have no dealings with lords, and dost think I would
marry my daughter zu ? Besides, ben't I engaged to
you, and did I ever go off any bargain when I had
promised ? "
" As to that point, neighbour," said Allworthy, " I
entirely release you from any engagement. No con-
tract can be binding between parties who have not a
full power to make it at the time, nor ever afterwards
acquire the power of fulfilling it."
" Slud ! then," answered Western, " I tell you I
have power, and I will fulfil it. Come along with me
l6o THE HISTORY OF
directly to Doctors' Commons, I will get a licence ;
and I will go to sister and take away the wench by
force, and she shall ha un, or I will lock her up, and
keep her upon bread and water as long as she lives."
" Mr Western," said Allworthy, " shall I beg you
will hear my full sentiments on this matter ? " — " Hear
thee ; ay, to be sure I will," answered he. " Why,
then, sir," cries Allworthy, " I can truly say, without
a compliment either to you or the young lady, that
when this match was proposed, I embraced it very
readily and heartily, from my regard to you both. An
alliance between two families so nearly neighbours, and
between whom there had always existed so mutual an
intercourse and good harmony, I thought a most de-
sirable event ; and with regard to the young lady, not
only the concurrent opinion of all who knew her, but
my own observation assured me that she would be an
inestimable treasure to a good husband. I shall say
nothing of her personal qualifications, which certainly
are admirable ; her good nature, her charitable disposi-
tion, her modesty, are too well known to need any
panegyric : but she hath one quality which existed in
a high degree in that best of women, who is now one
of the first of angels, which, as it is not of a glaring
kind, more commonly escapes observation ; so little
indeed is it remarked, that I want a word to express
it. I must use negatives on this occasion. I never
heard anything of pertness, or what is called repartee,
out of her mouth ; no pretence to wit, much less to
that kind of wisdom which is the result only of great
learning and experience, the affectation of which, in a
young woman, is as absurd as any of the affectations of
an ape. No dictatorial sentiments, no judicial opinions,
no profound criticisms. Whenever I have seen her in
the company of men, she hath been all attention, with
the modesty of a learner, not the forwardness of a
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. l6l
teacher. You'll pardon me for it, but I once, to try
her only, desired her opinion on a point which was
controverted between Mr Thwackum and Mr Square.
To which she answered, with much sweetness, ' You
will pardon me, good Mr Allworthy ; I am sure
you cannot in earnest think me capable of deciding
any point in which two such gentlemen disagree.'
Thwackum and Square, who both alike thought them-
selves sure of a favoui'able decision, seconded my re-
quest. She answered with the same good humour, ' I
must absolutely be excused : for I will affront neither
so much as to give my judgment on his side.' Indeed,
she always shewed the highest deference to the under-
standings of men ; a quality absolutely essential to the
making a good wife. I shall only add, that as she is
most apparently void of all affectation, this deference
must be certainly real."
Here Blifil sighed bitterly; upon which Western,
whose eyes were full of tears at the praise of Sophia,
blubbered out, " Don't be chicken-hearted, for shat ha
her, d — n me, shat ha her, if she was twenty times as
good."
" Remember your promise, sir," cried Allworthy,
" I was not to be interrupted." " Well, shat unt,"
answered the squire ; " I won't speak another word."
" Now, my good friend," continued Allworthy, " I
have dwelt so long on the merit of this young lady,
pardy as I really am in love with her character, and
partly that fortune (for the match in that light is really
advantageous on my nephew's side) might not be ima-
gined to be my principal view in having so eagerly
embraced the proposal. Indeed, I heartily wished to
receive so great a jewel into my family ; but though I
may wish for many good things, I would not, therefore,
steal them, or be guilty of any violence or injustice to
possess myself of them. Now to force a woman into
IV. L
1 62 THE HISTORY OF
a marriage contrary to her consent or approbation, is
an act of such injustice and oppression, that I wish the
laws of our country could restrain it ; but a good con-
science is never lawless in the worst regulated state,
and will provide those laws for itself, which the neglect
of legislators hath forgotten to supply. This is surely
a case of that kind ; for, is it not cruel, nay, impious,
to force a woman into that state against her will ; for
her behaviour in which she is to be accountable to the
highest and most dieadful court of judicature, and to
ansv/er at the peril of her soul ? To discharge the
matrimonial duties in an adequate manner is no easy
task ; and shall we lay this burthen upon a woman,
while we at the same time depiive her of all that
assistance which may enable her to undergo it ? Shall
we tear her very heart from her, while we enjoin her
duties to which a whole heart is scarce equal ? I must
speak very plainly here. I think parents who act in
this manner are accessories to all the guilt which their
children afterwards incur, and of course must, before a
just judge, expect to partake of their punishment ; but
if they could avoid this, good heaven ! is there a soul
who can bear the thought of having contributed to the
damnation of his child ?
" For these reasons, my best neighbour, as I see the
inclinations of this young lady are most unhappily averse
to my nephew, I must decline any fiirther thoughts of
the honour you intended him, though I assure you I
shall always retain the most grateful sense of it."
" Well, sir," said Western (the froth bursting forth
from his Hps the moment they were uncorked), "you
cannot say but I have heard you out, and now I ex-
pect you'll hear me ; and if I don't answer every word
on't, why then I'll consent to gee the matter up.
First then, I desire you to answer me one question —
Did not I beget her ? did not I beget her ? answer me
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 163
that. They say, indeed, it is a wise father that knows
his own child ; but I am sure I have the best title to
her, for I bred her up. But I believe you will allow
me to be her father, and if I be, am I not to govern
my own child ? I ask you that, am I not to govern
my own child ? and if I am to govern her in other
matters, surely I am to govern her in this, which con-
cerns her most. And what am I desiring all this
while ? Am I desiring her to do anything for me ?
to give me anything ? — Zu much on t'other side, that
I am only desiring her to take away half my estate
now, and t'other half when I die. Well, and what is
it all vor ? Why, is unt it to make her happy ? It's
enough to make one mad to hear volks talk ; if I was
going to marry myself, then she would ha reason to
cry and to blubber ; but, on the contrary, han't I
offered to bind down my land in such a manner, that I
could not marry if I would, seeing as narro' woman
upon earth would ha me. What the devil in hell can
I do more ? I contribute to her damnation ! — Zounds !
I'd zee all the world d — n'd bevore her little vinger
should be hurt. Indeed, Mr Allworthy, you must ex-
cuse me, but I am surprized to hear you talk in zuch
a manner, and I must say, take it how you will, that I
thought you had more sense."
Allworthy resented this reflection only with a smile ;
nor could he, if he would have endeavoured it, have
conveyed into that smile any mixture of malice or con-
tempt. His smiles at folly were indeed such as we
may suppose the angels bestow on the absurdities of
mankind.
Blifil now desired to be permitted to speak a few
words. " As to using any violence on the young lady,
I am sure I shall never consent to it. My conscience
will not permit me to use violence on any one, much
less on a lady for v/hom, however cruel she is to me,
164 THE HISTORY OF
I shall always preserve the purest and sincerest affection ;
but yet I have read that women are seldom proof against
perseverance. Why may I not hope then by such per-
severance at last to gain those inclinations, in which for
the future I shall, perhaps, have no rival ; for as for this
lord, Mr Western is so kind to prefer me to him ; and
sure, sir, you will not deny but that a parent hath at
least a negative voice in these matters ; nay, I have
heard this very young lady herself say so more than
once, and declare that she thought children inexcusable
who married in direct opposition to the will of their
parents. Besides, though the other ladies of the family
seem to favour the pretensions of my lord, I do not
find the lady herself is inclined to give him any counte-
nance ; alas ! I am too well assured she is not ; I am
too sensible that wickedest of men remains uppermost
in her heart."
" Ay, ay, so he does," cries Western.
" But surely," says Blifil, " when she hears of this
murder which he hath committed, if the law should
spare his life "
" What's that ? " cries Western. " Murder ! hath
he committed a mui'der, and is there any hopes of
seeing him hanged? — Tol de rol, tol lol de rol."
Here he fell a singing and capering about the room.
" Child," says Allworthy, " this unhappy passion of
yours distresses me beyond measure. I heartily pity
you, and would do every fair thing to promote your
success."
" I desire no more," cries Blifil ; " I am convinced
my dear uncle hath a better opinion of me than to think
that I myself would accept of more."
" Lookee," says Allworthy, "you have my leave to
write, to visit, if she will permit it — but I insist on
no thoughts of violence. I will have no confinement,
nothing of that kind attempted."
TOM JONESj A FOUNDLING. 1 65
« Well, well," cries the squire, " nothing of that
kind shall be attempted; we will try a little longer
what fair means will effect ; and if this fellow be but
hanged out of the way — Tol lol de rol ! I never heard
better news in my life — I warrant everything goes to
my mind. — Do, prithee, dear Allworthy, come and
dine with me at the Hercules Pillars : I have bespoke
a shoulder of mutton roasted, and a spare-rib of pork,
and a fowl and egg-sauce. There will be nobody but
ourselves, unless we have a mind to have the landlord ;
for I have sent Parson Supple down to Basingstoke
after my tobacco-box, which I left at an inn there,
and I would not lose it for the world; for it is an
old acquaintance of above twenty years' standing. I
can tell you landlord is a vast comical bitch, you will
like un hugely."
Mr Allworthy at last agreed to this invitation, and
soon after the squire went off, singing and capering at
the hopes of seeing the speedy tragical end of poor
Jones.
When he was gone, Mr Allworthy resumed the
aforesaid subject with much gravity. He told his
nephew, " He wished with all his heart he would
endeavour to conquer a passion, in which I cannot,"
says he, "flatter you with any hopes of succeeding.
It is certainly a vulgar error, that aversion in a woman
may be conquered by perseverance. Indifference may,
perhaps, sometimes yield to it ; but the usual triumphs
gained by perseverance in a lover are over caprice,
prudence, affectation, and often an exorbitant degree
of levity, which excites women not over-warm in their
constitutions to indulge their vanity by prolonging the
time of courtship, even when they are well enough
pleased with the object, and resolve (if they ever
resolve at all) to make him a very pitiful amends in
the end. But a fixed dislike, as I am afraid this is.
1 66 THE HISTORY OF
will rather gather strength than be conquered by time.
Besides, my dear, I have another apprehension which
you must excuse. I am afraid this passion which you
have for this fine young creature hath her beautiful
person too much for its object, and is unworthy of
the name of that love which is the only foundation
of matrimonial felicity. To admire, to like, and to
long for the possession of a beautiful woman, without
any regard to her sentiments towards us, is, I am
afraid, too natural ; but love, I believe, is the child
of love only ; at least, I am pretty confident that to
love the creature who we are assured hates us is
not in human nature. Examine your heart, therefore,
thoroughly, my good boy, and if, upon examination,
you have but the least suspicion of this kind, I am
sure your own virtue and religion will impel you to
drive so vicious a passion from your heart, and your
good sense will soon enable you to do it without
pain."
The reader may pretty well guess Blifil's answer ;
but, if he should be at a loss, we are not at present at
leisure to satisfy him, as our history now hastens on to
matters of higher importance, and we can no longer
bear to be absent from Sophia.
An extraordinary scene bettveen Sophia and her aunt.
THE lowing heifer and the bleating ewe, in herds
and flocks, may ramble safe and unregarded
through the pastures. These are, indeed, here-
after doomed to be the prey of man ; yet many
years are they suffered to enjoy their liberty undis-
turbed. But if a plump doe be discovered to have
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 67
escaped from the forest, and to repose herself in some
field or grove, the whole parish is presently alarmed,
every man is ready to set his dogs after her ; and, if
she is preserved from the rest by the good squire, it
is only that he may secure her for his own eating.
I have often considered a very fine young woman of
fortune and fashion, when first found strayed from the
pale of her nursery, to be in pretty much the same
situation with this doe. The town is immediately in
an uproar ; she is hunted from park to play, from court
to assembly, from assembly to her own chamber, and
rarely escapes a single season from the jaws of some
devourer or other ; for, if her friends protect her from
some, it is only to deliver her over to one of their own
chusing, often more disagreeable to her than any of
the rest ; while whole herds or flocks of other women
securely, and scarce regarded, traverse the park, the
play, the opera, and the assembly ; and though, for the
most part at least, they are at last devoured, yet for a
long time do they wanton in liberty, without disturb-
ance or controul.
Of all these paragons none ever tasted more of this
persecution than poor Sophia. Her ill stars were not
contented with all that she had suffered on account of
Blifil, they now raised her another pursuer, who seemed
likely to torment her no less than the other had done.
For though her aunt was less violent, she was no less
assiduous in teizing her, than her father had been
before.
The servants were no sooner departed after dinner
than Mrs Western, who had opened the matter to
Sophia, informed her, " That she expected his lord-
ship that very afternoon, and intended to take the first
opportunity of leaving her alone with him." " If you
do, madam," answered Sophia, with some spirit, " I
shall take the first opportunity of leaving him by him-
1 68 THE HISTORY OF
self." "How! madam!" cries the aunt; "is this
the return you make me for my kindness in relieving
you from your confinement at your father's ? " " You
know, madam," said Sophia, " the cause of that con-
finement was a refusal to comply with my father in
accepting a man I detested ; and will my dear aunt,
who hath relieved me from that distress, involve me
in another equally bad ? " " And do you think then,
madam," answered Mrs Western, "that there is no
difference between my Lord Fellamar and Mr Blifil ? "
" Very little, in my opinion," cries Sophia ; " and,
if I must be condemned to one, I would certainly have
the merit of sacrificing myself to my father's pleasure."
" Then my pleasure, I find," said the aunt, " hath very
little weight with you ; but that consideration shall not
move me. T act from nobler motives. The view of
aggrandizing my family, of ennobling yourself, is what
I proceed upon. Have you no sense of ambition ?
Are there no charms in the thoughts of having a
coronet on your coach ?" "None, upon my honour,"
said Sophia. " A pincushion upon my coach would
please me just as well." "Never mention honour,"
cries the aunt. " It becomes not the mouth of such
a wretch. I am sorry, niece, you force me to use
these words, but I cannot bear your groveling temper ;
you have none of the blood of the Westerns in you. But,
however mean and base your own ideas are, you shall
bring no imputation on mine. I will never suffer the
world to say of me that I encouraged you in refusing
one of the best matches in England ; a match which,
besides its advantage in fortune, would do honour to
almost any family, and hath, indeed, in title, the ad-
vantage of ours." " Surely," says Sophia, " I am born
deficient, and have not the senses with which other
people are blessed ; there must be certainly some sense
which can relish the delights of sound and show, which
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 69
I have not ; for surely mankind would not labour so
much, nor sacrifice so much for the obtaining, nor
would they be so elate and proud with possessing, what
appeared to them, as it doth to me, the most insignifi-
cant of all trifles."
" No, no, miss," cries the aunt ; " you are born with
as many senses as other people ; but I assure you you
are not born with a sufficient understanding to make a
fool of me, or to expose my conduct to the world ; so
I declare this to you, upon my word, and you know,
I believe, how fixed my resolutions are, unless you
agree to see his lordship this afternoon, I will, with
my own hands, deliver you to-morrow morning to my
brother, and will never henceforth interfere with you,
nor see your face again." Sophia stood a few moments
silent after this speech, which was uttered in a most
angry and peremptory tone ; and then, bui'sting into
tears, she cryed, " Do with me, madam, whatever you
please ; I am the most miserable undone wretch upon
earth ; if my dear aunt forsakes me where shall I look
for a protector ? " " My dear niece," cries she, *' you
will have a very good protector in his lordship ; a
protector whom nothing but a hankering after that vile
fellow Jones can make you decline." " Indeed,
madam," said Sophia, " you wrong me. How can
you imagine, after what you have shewn me, if I had
ever any such thoughts, that I should not banish them for
ever ? If it will satisfy you, I will receive the sacra-
ment upon it never to see his face again." " But,
child, dear child," said the aunt, " be reasonable ; can
you invent a single objection ? " " I have already, I
think, told you a sufficient objection," answered Sophia.
" What ? " cries the aunt ; " I remember none."
" Sure, madam," said Sophia, " I told you he had
used me in the mdest and vilest manner." " Indeed,
child," answered she, " I never heard you, or did not
170 THE HISTORY OF
understand you : — but what do you mean by this rude,
vile manner ? " " Indeed, madam," said Sophia, " I
am almost ashamed to tell you. He caught me in
his arms, pulled me down upon the settee, and thrust
his hand into my bosom, and kissed it with such
violence that I have the mark upon my left breast
at this moment." " Indeed ! " said Mrs Western.
" Yes, indeed, madam," answered Sophia ; " my father
luckily came in at that instant, or Heaven knows what
rudeness he intended to have proceeded to." " I am
astonished and confounded," cries the aunt. " No
woman of the name of Western hath been ever treated
so since we were a family. I would have torn the eyes
of a prince out, if he had attempted such freedoms with
me. It is impossible ! sure, Sophia, you must invent this
to raise my indignation against him." " I hope, madam,"
said Sophia, " you have too good an opinion of me to
imagine me capable of telling an untruth. Upon my
soul it is true." " I should have stabbed him to the
heart, had I been present," returned the aunt. " Yet
surely he could have no dishonourable design ; it is
impossible ! he durst not : besides, his proposals shew
he hath not ; for they are not only honourable, but
generous. I don't know ; the age allows too great
freedoms. A distant salute is all I would have allowed
before the ceremony. I have had lovers formerly, not
so long ago neither ; several lovers, though I never
would consent to marriage, and I never encouraged the
least freedom. It is a foolish custom, and what I never
would agree to. No man kissed more of me than my
cheek. It is as much as one can bring oneself to give
lips up to a husband ; and, indeed, could I ever have
been persuaded to marry, I believe I should not have
soon been brought to endure so much." " You will
pardon me, dear madam," said Sophia, " if I make one
observation : you own you have had many lovers, and
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. I7I
the world knows it, even if you should deny it. You
refused them all, and, I am convinced, one coronet at
least among them." "You say true, dear Sophy,"
answered she ; " I had once the offer of a title."
" Why, then," said Sophia, " will you not suffer me
to refuse this once ? " " It is true, child," said she,
" I have refused the offer of a title ; but it was not so
good an offer ; that is, not so very, very good an offer."
— " Yes, madam," said Sophia ; " but you have had very
great proposals from men of vast fortunes. It was not
the first, nor the second, nor the third advantageous
match that offered itself." " I own it was not," said
she. " Well, madam," continued Sophia, " and why
may not I expect to have a second, perhaps, better than
this ? You are now but a young woman, and I am
convinced would not promise to yield to the first lover
of fortune, nay, or of title too. I am a very young
woman, and sure I need not despaii-." "Well, my
dear, dear Sophy," cries the aunt, " what would you
have me say?" "Why, I only beg that I may not
be left alone, at least this evening; grant me that,
and I will submit, if you think, after what is past, I
ought to see him in your company." " Well, I will
grant it," cries the aunt. " Sophy, you know I love
you, and can deny you nothing. You know the easi-
ness of my nature ; I have not always been so easy.
I have been formerly thought cruel ; by the men, I
mean. I was called the cruel Parthenissa. I have
broke many a window that has had verses to the cruel
Parthenissa in it. Sophy, I was never so handsome as
you, and yet I had something of you formerly. I am
a litde altered. Kingdoms and states, as Tully Cicero
says in his epistles, undergo alterations, and so must the
human form." Thus run she on for near half an hour
upon herself, and her conquests, and her cruelty, till
the arrival of my lord, who, after a most tedious visit,
172 THE HISTORY OF
during which Mrs Western never once offered to leave
the room, retired, not much more satisfied with the
aunt than with the niece ; for Sophia had brought her
aunt into so excellent a temper, that she consented to
almost everything her niece said ; and agreed that a
little distant behaviour might not be improper to so
forward a lover.
Thus Sophia, by a little well-directed flattery, for
which surely none will blame her, obtained a little ease
for herself, and, at least, put off the evil day. And
now we have seen our heroine in a better situation than
she hath been for a long time before, we will look a
little after Mr Jones, whom we left in the most deplor-
able situation that can be well imagined.
Cljapter D.
Mrs Miller and Mr Nightingale visit Jones in the
prison.
WHEN Mr Allworthy and his nephew went to
meet Mr Western, Mrs Miller set forwards
to her son-in-law's lodgings, in order to
acquaint him with the accident which had befallen his
friend Jones ; but he had known it long before from
Partridge (for Jones, when he left Mrs Miller, had
been furnished with a room in the same house with Mr
Nightingale). The good woman found her daughter
under great affliction on account of Mr Jones, whom
having comforted as well as she could, she set forwards
to the Gatehouse, where she heard he was, and where
Mr Nightingale was arrived before her.
The firmness and constancy of a true friend is a
circumstance so extremely delightful to persons in any
kind of distress, that the distress itself, if it be only
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 73
temcorary, and admits of relief, is more than com-
pensated by bringing this comfort with it. Nor are
instances of this kind so rare as some superficial and
inaccurate observers have reported. To say the truth,
want of compassion is not to be numbered among our
general faults. The black ingredient which fouls our
disposition is envy. Hence oui- eye is seldom, I am
afraid, turned upward to those who are manifestly
greater, better, wiser, or happier than ourselves, with-
out some degree of malignity ; while we commonly
look downwards on the mean and miserable with
sufficient benevolence and pity. In fact, I have re-
marked, that most of the defects which have discovered
themselves in the friendships within my observation
have arisen from envy only : a hellish vice ; and yet
one from which I have known very few absolutely
exempt. But enough of a subject which, if pursued,
would lead me too far.
Whether it was that Fortune was apprehensive lest
Jones should sink under the weight of his adversity,
and that she might thus lose any future opportunity of
tormenting hiwi, or whether she really abated somewhat
of her severity towards him, she seemed a little to relax
her persecution, by sending him the company of two
such faithful friends, and what is perhaps more rare,
a faithful servant. For Partridge, though he had many
imperfections, wanted not fidelity ; and though fear
would not suffer him to be hanged for his master, yet
the world, I believe, could not have bribed him to
desert his cause.
While Jones was expressing great satisfaction in the
presence of his friends, Partridge brought an account
that Mr Fitzpatrick was still alive, though the surgeon
declared that he had very little hopes. Upon which,
Jones fetching a deep sigh. Nightingale said to him,
"My dear Tom, why should you afflict yourself so
174 THE HISTORY OF
upon an accident, which, whatever be the consequence,
can be attended with no danger to you, and in which
your conscience cannot accuse you of having been the
least to blame ? If the fellow should die, what have
you done more than taken away the life of a ruffian in
your own defence ? So will the coroner's inquest
certainly find it ; and then you will be easily admitted
to bail ; and, though you must undergo the form of a
trial, yet it is a trial which many men would stand for
you for a shilling." " Come, come, Mr Jones," says
Mrs Miller, " chear yourself up. I knew you could
not be the aggressor, and so I told Mr Allworthy,
and so he shall acknowledge too, before I have done
with him."
Jones gravely answered, " That whatever might be
his fate, he should always lament the having shed the
blood of one of his fellow-creatures, as one of the
highest misfortunes which could have befallen him.
But I have another misfortune of the tenderest kind
O ! Mrs Miller, I have lost what I held most
dear upon earth." "That must be a mistress," said
Mrs Miller ; " but come, come ; I know more than
you imagine" (for indeed Partridge had blabbed all) ;
" and I have heard more than you know. Matters go
better, I promise you, than you think ; and I would
not give Blifil sixpence for all the chance which he
hath of the lady."
" Indeed, my dear friend, indeed," answered Jones,
" you are an entire stranger to the cause of my grief.
If you was acquainted with the story, you would allow
my case admitted of no comfort. I apprehend no
danger from Blifil. I have undone myself." " Don't
despair," replied Mrs Miller ; " you know not what
a woman can do ; and if anything be in my power,
I promise you I will do it to serve you. It is my
duty. My son, my dear Mr Nightingale, who is so
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 75
kind to tell me he hath obligations to you on the same
account, knows it is my duty. Shall I go to the lady
myself? I will say anything to her you would have
me say."
" Thou best of women," cries Jones, taking her by
the hand, " talk not of obligations to me ; but as
you have been so kind to mention it, there is a favour
which, perhaps, may be in your power. I see you are
acquainted with the lady (how you came by your in-
formation I know not), who sits, indeed, very near my
heart. If you could contrive to deliver this (giving
her a paper from his pocket), I shall for ever acknow-
ledge your goodness."
" Give it me," said Mrs Miller. " If I see it not
in her own possession before I sleep, may my next
sleep be my last ! Comfort yourself, my good young
man ! be wise enough to take warning from past follies,
and I warrant all shall be well, and I shall yet see you
happy with the most charming young lady in the world ;
for I so hear from every one she is."
" Believe me, madam," said he, " I do not speak
the common cant of one in my unhappy situation.
Before this dreadful accident happened, I had resolved
to quit a life of which I was become sensible of the
wickedness as well as folly. I do assure you, not-
withstanding the disturbances I have unfortunately
occasioned in your house, for which I heartily ask
your pardon, I am not an abandoned profligate.
Though I have been hurried into vices, I do not ap-
prove a vicious character, nor will I ever, from this
moment, deserve it."
Mrs Miller expressed great satisfaction in these
declarations, in the sincerity of which she averred she
had an entire faith ; and now the remainder of the
conversation past in the joint attempts of that good
woman and Mr Nightingale to cheer the dejected
176 THE HISTORY OF
spirits of Mr Jones, in which they so far succeeded as
to leave him much better comforted and satisfied than
they found him ; to which happy alteration nothing
so much contributed as the kind undertaking of Mrs
Miller to deliver his letter to Sophia, which he de-
spaired of finding any means to accomplish ; for when
Black George produced the last from Sophia, he in-
formed Partridge that she had strictly charged him, on
pain of having it communicated to her father, not to
bring her any answer. He was, moreover, not a little
pleased to find he had so warm an advocate to Mr All-
worthy himself in this good woman, who was, in reality,
one of the worthiest creatui'es in the world.
After about an houi"'s visit from the lady (for Night-
ingale had been with him much longer), they both took
their leave, promising to return to him soon ; dming
which Mrs Miller said she hoped to bring him some
good news from his mistress, and Mr Nightingale
promised to enquire into the state of Mr Fitzpatrick's
wound, and likewise to find out some of the persons
who were present at the rencounter.
The former of these went directly in quest of Sophia,
whither we likewise shall now attend her.
Chapter Ui.
In which Mrs Miller pays a •visit to Sophia.
ACCESS to the young lady was by no means
A\ difficult ; for, as she lived now on a perfect
friendly footing with her aunt, she was at full
liberty to receive what visitants she pleased.
Sophia was di'essing when she was acquainted that
there was a gentlewoman below to wait on her. As
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 177
she was neither afraid, nor ashamed, to see any of her
own sex, Mrs Miller was immediately admitted.
Curtsies and the usual ceremonials between women
who are strangers to each other, being past, Sophia
said, " I have not the pleasui'e to know you, madam."
"No, madam," answered Mrs Miller, "and I must
beg pardon for intruding upon you. But when you
know what has induced me to give you this trouble, I
hope " " Pray, what is your business, madam ? "
said Sophia, with a little emotion. " Madam, we are
not alone," replied Mrs Miller, in a low voice. " Go
out, Betty," said Sophia.
When Betty was departed, Mrs Miller said, " I was
desired, madam, by a very unhappy young gentleman, to
deliver you this letter." Sophia changed colour when
she saw the direction, well knowing the hand, and
after some hesitation, said — "I could not conceive,
madam, from your appearance, that your business had
been of such a nature. — Whomever you brought this
letter from, I shall not open it. I should be sorry to
entertain an unjust suspicion of any one ; but you are an
utter stranger to me."
"If you will have patience, madam," answered Mrs
Miller, " I will acquaint you who I am, and how I
came by that letter." " I have no curiosity, madam, to
know anything," cries Sophia ; " but I must insist on
your delivering that letter back to the person who gave
it you."
Mrs Miller then fell upon her knees, and in the most
passionate terms implored her compassion ; to which
Sophia answered : " Sure, madam, it is surprizing you
should be so very strongly interested in the behalf of
this person. I would not think, madam" — "No,
madam," says Mrs Miller, " you shall not think any-
thing but the truth. I will tell you all, and you will
not wonder that I am interested. He is the best-
IV. M
178 THE HISTORY OF
natured creature that ever was born." She then
began and related the story of Mr Anderson.
After this she cried, " This, madam, this is his good-
ness ; but I have much more tender obligations to him.
He hath preserved my child." Here, after shed-
ding some tears, she related everything concerning that
fact, suppressing only those circumstances which would
have most reflected on her daughter, and concluded
with saying, " Now, madam, you shall judge whether I
can ever do enough for so kind, so good, so generous a
young man ; and sure he is the best and worthiest of all
human beings."
The alterations in the countenance of Sophia had
hitherto been chiefly to her disadvantage, and had in-
clined her complexion to too great paleness ; but she
now waxed redder, if possible, than vermilion, and
cried, " I know not what to say ; certainly what arises
from gratitude cannot be blamed But what service
can my reading this letter do your friend, since I am
resolved never " Mrs Miller fell again to her
entreaties, and begged to be forgiven, but she could
not, she said, carry it back. " Well, madam," says
Sophia, " I cannot help it, if you will force it upon
me. — Certainly you may leave it whether I will or
no." What Sophia meant, or whether she meant any-
thing, I will not presume to determine ; but Mrs
Miller actually understood this as a hint, and presently
laying the letter down on the table, took her leave,
having first begged permission to wait again on Sophia ;
which request had neither assent nor denial.
The letter lay upon the table no longer than till Mrs
Miller was out of sight ; for then Sophia opened and
read it.
This letter did very little service to his cause ; for it
consisted of little more than confessions of his own un-
worthiness, and bitter lamentations of despair, together
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 79
with the most solemn protestations of his unalterable
fidelity to Sophia, of which, he said, he hoped to con-
vince her, if he had ever more the honour of being
admitted to her presence ; and that he could account
for the letter to Lady Bellaston in such a manner, that,
though it would not entitle him to her forgiveness, he
hoped at least to obtain it from her mercy. And
concluded with vowing that nothing was ever less in his
thoughts than to marry Lady Bellaston.
Though Sophia read the letter twice over with great
attention, his meaning still remained a riddle to her ;
nor could her invention suggest to her any means to
excuse Jones. She certainly remained very angry with
him, though indeed Lady Bellaston took up so much
of her resentment, that her gentle mind had but little
left to bestow on any other person.
That lady was most unluckily to dine this very day
with her aunt Western, and in the afternoon they were
all three, by appointment, to go together to the opera,
and thence to Lady Thomas Hatchet's drum. Sophia
would have gladly been excused from all, but would
not disoblige her aunt ; and as to the arts of counter-
feiting illness, she was so entirely a stranger to them,
that it never once entered into her head. When she
was drest, therefore, down she went, resolved to en-
counter all the horrors of the day, and a most disagree-
able one it proved ; for Lady Bellaston took every
opportunity very civilly and slily to insult her ; to all
which her dejection of spirits disabled her from making
any return ; and, indeed, to confess the truth, she was
at the very best but an indifferent mistress of repartee.
Another misfortune which befel poor Sophia was
the company of Lord Fellamar, whom she met at the
opera, and who attended her to the drum. And
though both places were too publick to admit of any
particularities, and she was farther relieved by the
l8o THE HISTORY OF
musick at the one place, and by the cards at the other,
she could not, however, enjoy herself in his company ;
for there is something of delicacy in women, which
will not suffer them to be even easy in the presence of
a man whom they know to have pretensions to them
which they are disinclined to favour.
Having in this chapter twice mentioned a drum, a
word which our posterity, it is hoped, will not under-
stand in the sense it is here applied, we shall, notwith-
standing our present haste, stop a moment to describe
the entertainment here meant, and the rather as we can
in a moment describe it.
A drum, then, is an assembly of well-dressed persons
of both sexes, most of whom play at cards, and the
rest do nothing at all ; while the mistress of the house
performs the part of the landlady at an inn, and like
the landlady of an inn prides herself in the number of
her guests, though she doth not always, like her, get
anything by it.
No wonder then, as so much spirits must be required
to support any vivacity in these scenes of dulness, that
we hear persons of fashion eternally complaining of the
want of them ; a complaint confined entirely to upper
life. How insupportable must we imagine this round
of impertinence to have been to Sophia at this time ;
how difficult must she have found it to force the
appearance of gaiety into her looks, when her mind
dictated nothing but the tenderest sorrow, and when
every thought was charged with tormenting ideas !
Night, however, at last restored her to her pillow,
where we will leave her to soothe her melancholy at
least, though incapable we fear of rest, and shall pursue
our history, which, something whispers us, is now
arrived at the eve of some great event.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. l8l
dDHptcr tot J*
j4 pathetic scene between Mr Allworthy and Mrs Miller.
MRS Miller had a long discourse with Mr All-
worthy, at his return from dinner, in which
she acquainted him with Jones's having un-
fortunately lost all which he was pleased to bestow on
him at their separation ; and with the distresses to
which that loss had subjected him ; of all which she
had received a full account from the faithful retailer
Partridge. She then explained the obligations she had
to Jones ; not that she was entirely explicit with regard
to her daughter ; for though she had the utmost con-
fidence in Mr AUworthy, and though there could be
no hopes of keeping an affair secret which was unhappily
known to more than half a dozen, yet she could not
prevail with herself to mention those circumstances
which reflected most on the chastity of poor Nancy,
but smothered that part of her evidence as cautiously
as if she had been before a judge, and the girl was now
on her trial for the murder of a bastard.
AUworthy said, there were few characters so abso-
lutely vicious as not to have the least mixture of good
in them. " However," says he, " I cannot deny but
that you have some obligations to the fellow, bad as he
is, and I shall therefore excuse what hath past already,
but must insist you never mention his name to me more ;
for, I promise you, it was upon the fullest and plainest
evidence that I resolved to take the measures I have
taken." "Well, sir," says she, "I make not the
least doubt but time will shew all matters in their true
and natural colours, and that you will be convinced this
poor young man deserves better of you than some other
folks that shall be nameless."
« Madam," cries Allworthy, a little ruffled, " I will
102 THE HISTORY OF
not hear any reflections on my nephew ; and if ever
you say a word more of that kind, I will depart from
your house that instant. He is the worthiest and best
of men ; and I once more repeat it to you, he hath
carried his friendship to this man to a blameable length,
by too long concealing facts of the blackest die. The
ingratitude of the wretch to this good young man is
what I most resent ; for, madam, I have the greatest
reason to imagine he had laid a plot to supplant my
nephew in my favour, and to have disinherited him."
" I am sure, sir," answered Mrs Miller, a little
frightened (for, though Mr Allworthy had the utmost
sweetness and benevolence in his smiles, he had great
teri'or in his frowns), " I shall never speak against any
gentleman you are pleased to think well of. I am
sure, sir, such behaviour would very little become me,
especially when the gentleman is your nearest relation ;
but, sir, you must not be angry with me, you must not
indeed, for my good wishes to this poor wretch. Sure
I may call him so now, though once you would have
been angry with me if I had spoke of him with the
least disrespect. How often have I heard you call him
your son ? How often have you prattled to me of him
with all the fondness of a parent ? Nay, sir, I cannot
forget the many tender expressions, the many good
things you have told me of his beauty, and his parts,
and his virtues ; of his good-nature and generosity. I
am sure, sir, I cannot forget them, for I find them all
true. I have experienced them in my own cause.
They have preserved my family. You must pardon
my tears, sir, indeed you must. When I consider the
cruel reverse of fortune which this poor youth, to whom
I am so much obliged, hath suffered ; when I consider
the loss of your favour, which I know he valued more
than his life, I must, I must lament him. If you had
a dagger in your hand, ready to plunge into my heart,
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 183
I must lament the misery of one whom you have loved,
and I shall ever love."
Allworthy was pretty much moved with this speech,
but it seemed not to be with anger ; for, after a short
silence, taking Mrs Miller by the hand, he said very
affectionately to her, " Come, madam, let us consider a
little about your daughter. I cannot blame you for
rejoicing in a match which promises to be advantageous
to her, but you know this advantage, in a great measure,
depends on the father's reconciliation, I know Mr
Nightingale very well, and have formerly had concerns
with him ; I will make him a visit, and endeavour to
serve you in this matter. I believe he is a worldly
man ; but as this is an only son, and the thing is now
irretrievable, perhaps he may in time be brought to
reason. I promise you I will do all I can for you."
Many were the acknowledgments which the poor
woman made to Allworthy for this kind and generous
offer, nor could she refrain from taking this occasion
again to express her gratitude towards Jones, "to
whom," said she, " I owe the opportunity of giving
you, sir, this present trouble." Allworthy gently
stopped her ; but he was too good a man to be really
offended with the effects of so noble a principle as now
actuated Mrs Miller; and indeed, had not this new
affair inflamed his former anger against Jones, it is
possible he might have been a little softened towards
him, by the report of an action which malice itself
could not have derived from an evil motive.
Mr Allworthy and Mrs Miller had been above an
hour together, when their conversation was put an end
to by the arrival of Blifil and another person, which
other person was no less than Mr Dowling, the
attorney, who was now become a great favourite with
Mr Blifil, and whom Mr Allworthy, at the desire of
his nephew, had made his steward ; and had likewise
184 THE HISTORY OF
recommended him to Mr Western, from whom the
attorney received a promise of being promoted to the
same office upon the first vacancy ; and, in the mean-
time, was employed in transacting some affairs which
the squire then had in London in relation to a mort-
gage.
This was the principal affair which then brought Mr
Dowling to town ; therefore he took the same oppor-
tunity to charge himself with some money for Mr
Allworthy, and to make a report to him of some other
business ; in all which, as it was of much too dull a
nature to find any place in this history, we will leave
the uncle, nephew, and their lawyer concerned, and
resort to other matters.
Containing various matters.
BEFORE we return to Mr Jones, we will take
one more view of Sophia.
Though that young lady had brought her
aunt into great good humour by those soothing methods
which we have before related, she had not brought
her in the least to abate of her zeal for the match with
Lord Fellamar. This zeal was now inflamed by Lady
Bellaston, who had told her the preceding evening,
that she was well satisfied from the conduct of Sophia,
and from her carriage to his lordship, that all delays
would be dangerous, and that the only way to succeed
was to press the match forward with such rapidity that
the young lady should have no time to reflect, and
be obliged to consent while she scarce knew what
she did ; in which manner, she said, one-half of the
marriages among people of condition were brought
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 185
about. A fact very probably true, and to which, I
suppose, is owing the- mutual tenderness which after-
wards exists among so many happy couples.
A hint of the same kind was given by the same lady
to Lord Fellamar ; and both these so readily embraced
the advice that the very next day was, at his lordship's
request, appointed by Mrs Western for a private inter-
view between the young parties. This was communi-
cated to Sophia by her aunt, and insisted upon in such
high terms, that, after having urged everything she
possibly could invent against it without the least effect,
she at last agreed to give the highest instance of com-
placence which any young lady can give, and consented
to see his lordship.
As conversations of this kind afford no great en-
tertainment, we shall be excused from reciting the
whole that past at this interview ; in which, after his
lordship had made many declarations of the most pure
and ardent passion to the silent blushing Sophia, she
at last collected all the spirits she could raise, and
with a trembling low voice said, " My lord, you
must be yourself conscious whether your former be-
haviour to me hath been consistent with the professions
you now make." " Is there," answered he, " no way
by which I can atone for madness ? what I did I
am afraid must have too plainly convinced you, that
the violence of love had deprived me of my senses."
" Indeed, my lord," said she, " it is in your power
to give me a proof of an affection which I much rather
wish to encourage, and to which I should think myself
more beholden." " Name it, madam," said my lord,
very warmly. "My lord," says she, looking down
upon her fan, " I know you must be sensible how uneasy
this pretended passion of yours hath made me." " Can
. you be so cruel to call it pretended ? " says he. " Yes,
my lord," answered Sophia, "all professions of love to
l86 THE HISTORY OF
those whom we persecute are most insulting pretences.
This pursuit of yours is to me a most cruel persecu-
tion : nay, it is taking a most ungenerous advantage of
my unhappy situation." " Most lovely, most adorable
charmer, do not accuse me," cries he, " of taking
an ungenerous advantage, while I have no thoughts but
what are directed to your honour and interest, and
while I have no view, no hope, no ambition, but to
throw myself, honour, fortune, everything at your feet."
" My lord," says she, *' it is that fortune and those
honours which gave you the advantage of which I
complain. These are the charms which have seduced
my relations, but to me they are things indifferent. If
your lordship will merit my gratitude, there is but one
way." " Pardon me, divine creature," said he, " there
can be none. All I can do for you is so much your
due, and will give me so much pleasure, that there is
no room for your gratitude." " Indeed, my lord,"
answered she, " you may obtain my gratitude, my good
opinion, every kind thought and wish which it is in my
power to bestow ; nay, you may obtain them with ease,
for sure to a generous mind it must be easy to grant my
request. Let me beseech you, then, to cease a pursuit
in which you can never have any success. For your
own sake as well as mine I entreat this favoui" ; for
sure you are too noble to have any pleasure in torment-
ing an unhappy creature. What can your lordship
propose but uneasiness to yourself, by a perseverance,
which, upon my honour, upon my soul, cannot, shall
not prevail with me, whatever distresses you may drive
me to." Here my lord fetched a deep sigh, and then
said — " Is it then, madam, that I am so unhappy to
be the object of your dislike and scorn ; or will you
pardon me if I suspect there is some other ? " Here
he hesitated, and Sophia answered with some spirit,
" My lord, I shall not be accountable to you for the
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 87
reasons of my conduct. I am obliged to your lordship
for the generous offer you have made ; I own it is
beyond either my deserts or expectations ; yet I hope,
my lord, you will not insist on my reasons, when I
declare I cannot accept it." Lord Fellamar returned
much to this, which we do not perfectly understand,
and perhaps it could not all be strictly reconciled
either to sense or grammar ; but he concluded his
ranting speech with saying, " That if she had pre-
engaged herself to any gentleman, however unhappy
it would make him, he should think himself bound
in honour to desist." Perhaps my lord laid too much
emphasis on the word gentleman ; for we cannot else
well account for the indignation with which he inspired
Sophia, who, in her answer, seemed greatly to resent
some affront he had given her.
While she was speaking, with her voice more raised
than usual, Mrs Western came into the room, the fire
glaring in her cheeks, and the flames bursting from her
eyes. " I am ashamed," says she, " my lord, of the
reception which you have met with. I assure your
lordship we are all sensible of the honour done us ; and
I must tell you. Miss Western, the family expect a
different behaviour from you." Here my lord inter-
fered on behalf of the young lady, but to no purpose ;
the aunt proceeded till Sophia pulled out her handker-
chief, threw herself into a chair, and burst into a violent
fit of tears.
The remainder of the conversation between Mrs
Western and his lordship, till the latter withdrew,
consisted of bitter lamentations on his side, and on
hers of the strongest assuz^ances that her niece should
and would consent to all he wished. " Indeed, my
lord," says she, " the girl hath had a foolish education,
neither adapted to her fortune nor her family. Her
father, I am sorry to say it, is to blame for everything.
1 88 THE HISTORY OF
The girl hath silly country notions of bashfulness.
Nothing else, my lord, upon my honour ; I am con-
vinced she hath a good understanding at the bottom,
and will be brought to reason."
This last speech was made in the absence of Sophia ;
for she had some time before left the room, with more
appearance of passion than she had ever shown on any
occasion ; and now his lordship, after many expressions
of thanks to Mrs Western, many ardent professions
of passion which nothing could conquer, and many
assurances of perseverance, which Mrs Western highly
encouraged, took his leave for this time.
Before we relate what now passed between Mrs
Western and Sophia, it may be proper to mention an
unfortunate accident which had happened, and which
had occasioned the return of Mrs Western with so
much fury, as we have seen.
The reader then must know that the maid who at
present attended on Sophia was recommended by Lady
Bellaston, with whom she had lived for some time in
the capacity of a comb-brush : she was a very sensible
girl, and had received the strictest instructions to watch
her young lady very carefully. These instmctions, we
are sorry to say, were communicated to her by Mrs
Honoui", into whose favour Lady Bellaston had now
so ingratiated herself, that the violent affection which
the good waiting-woman had formerly borne to Sophia
was entirely obliterated by that great attachment which
she had to her new mistress.
Now, when Mrs Miller was departed, Betty (for
that was the name of the girl), returning to her young
lady, found her very attentively engaged in reading a
long letter, and the visible emotions which she betrayed
on that occasion might have well accounted for some
suspicions which the girl entertained ; but indeed they
had yet a stronger foundation, for she had overheard
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 89
the whole scene which passed between Sophia and Mrs
Miller.
Mrs Western was acquainted with all this matter by
Betty, who, after receiving many commendations and
some rewards for her fidelity, was ordered, that, if the
woman who brought the letter came again, she should
introduce her to Mrs Western herself.
Unluckily, Mrs Miller returned at the very time
when Sophia was engaged with his lordship. Betty,
according to order, sent her directly to the aunt ; who,
being mistress of so many circumstances relating to
what had past the day before, easily imposed upon the
poor woman to believe that Sophia had communicated
the whole affair ; and so pumped everything out of her
which she knew relating to the letter and relating to
Jones.
This poor creature might, indeed, be called simplicity
itself. She was one of that order of mortals who are
apt to believe everything which is said to them ; to
whom nature hath neither indulged the offensive nor
defensive weapons of deceit, and who are consequently
liable to be imposed upon by any one who will only be
at the expense of a little falshood for that purpose.
Mrs Western, having drained Mrs Miller of all she
knew, which, indeed, was but little, but which was
sufficient to make the aunt suspect a great deal, dis-
missed her with assurances that Sophia would not see
her, that she would send no answer to the letter, nor
ever receive another ; nor did she suffer her to depart
without a handsome lecture on the merits of an office
to which she could afford no better name than that of
procuress. — This discovery had greatly discomposed
her temper, when, coming into the apartment next to
that in which the lovers were, she overheard Sophia
very warmly protesting against his lordship's addresses.
At which the rage already kindled burst forth, and she
IQO THE HISTORY OF
rushed in upon her niece in a most furious manner, as
we have already described, together with what past at
that time till his lordship's departure.
No sooner was Lord Fellamar gone than Mrs
Western returned to Sophia, whom she upbraided in
the most bitter terms for the ill use she had made of
the confidence reposed in her ; and for her treachery
in conversing with a man with whom she had offered
but the day before to bind herself in the most solemn
oath never more to have any conversation. Sophia
protested she had maintained no such conversation.
" How, how ! Miss Western," said the aunt ; " will
you deny your receiving a letter from him yesterday ? "
« A letter, madam ! " answered Sophia, somewhat sur-
prized. *' It is not very well bred, miss," replies the
aunt, " to repeat my words, I say a letter, and I insist
upon your showing it me immediately. " I scorn a
lie, madam," said Sophia ; " I did receive a letter,
but it was without my desire, and, indeed, I may say,
against my consent." *' Indeed, indeed, miss," cries
the aunt, " you ought to be ashamed of owning you
had received it at all ; but where is the letter ? for I
will see it."
To this peremptory demand, Sophia paused some
time before she returned an answer ; and at last only
excused herself by declaring she had not the letter in
her pocket, which was, indeed, true ; upon which her
aunt, losing all manner of patience, asked her niece this
short question, whether she would resolve to marry Lord
Fellamar, or no ? to which she received the strongest
negative. Mrs Western then replied with an oath,
or something very like one, that she would early the
next morning deliver her back into her father's hand.
Sophia then began to reason with her aunt in the
following manner: — "Why, madam, must T of neces-
sity be forced to marry at all ? Consider how cruel
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. I9I
you would have thought it in your own case, and how
much kinder your parents were in leaving you to your
liberty. What have I done to forfeit this liberty ? I
will never marry contrary to my father's consent, nor
without asking yours And when I ask the consent
of either improperly, it will be then time enough to
force some other marriage upon me." " Can I bear
to hear this," cries Mrs Western, " from a girl who
hath now a letter from a murderer in her pocket ? "
" I have no such letter, I promise you," answered
Sophia ; " and, if he be a murderer, he will soon be
in no condition to give you any further disturbance."
" How, Miss Western ! " said the aunt, " have you
the assurance to speak of him in this manner ; to own
your affection for such a villain to my face ? " " Sure,
madam," said Sophia, "you put a very strange con-
struction on my words." " Indeed, Miss Western,"
cries the lady, " I shall not bear this usage ; you have
learnt of your father this manner of treating me ; he
hath taught you to give me the lie. He hath totally
ruined you by this false system of education ; and,
please heaven, he shall have the comfort of its fruits ;
for once more T declare to you, that to-morrow morn-
ing I will carry you back. I will withdraw all my
forces from the field, and remain henceforth, like the
wise king of Prussia, in a state of perfect neutrality.
You are both too wise to be regulated by my measures ;
so prepare yourself, for to-morrow morning you shall
evacuate this house."
Sophia remonstrated all she could ; but her aunt was
deaf to all she said. In this resolution therefore we
must at present leave her, as there seems to be no hopes
of bringing her to change it.
192 THE HISTORY OF
CHpter iy.
What happened to Mr Jones in the prison.
MR Jones passed about twenty-four melancholy
hours by himself, unless when relieved by the
company of Partridge, before Mr Nightingale
returned ; not that this worthy young man had deserted
or forgot his friend ; for, indeed, he had been much
the greatest part of the time employed in his service.
He had heard, upon enquiry, that the only persons
who had seen the beginning of the unfortunate rencounter
were a crew belonging to a man-of-war which then lay at
Deptford. To Deptford therefore he went in search
of this crew, where he was informed that the men he
sought after were all gone ashore. He then traced
them from place to place, till at last he found two of
them drinking together, with a third person, at a hedge-
tavern near Aldersgate.
Nightingale desired to speak with Jones by himself
(for Partridge was in the room when he came in).
As soon as they were alone. Nightingale, taking Jones
by the hand, cried, " Come, my brave friend, be not
too much dejected at what I am going to tell you
I am sorry I am the messenger of bad news ; but I
think it my duty to tell you." " I guess already what
that bad news is," cries Jones. "The poor gentleman
then is dead." " I hope not," answered Night-
ingale. " He was alive this morning ; though I will
not flatter you ; I fear, from the accounts I could get,
that his wound is mortal. But if the affair be exactly
as you told it, your own remorse would be all you would
have reason to apprehend, let what would happen ; but
forgive me, my dear Tom, if I entreat you to make
the worst of your story to your friends. If you dis-
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 93
guise anything to us, you will only be an enemy to
yourself."
"What reason, my dear Jack, have I ever given
you," said Jones, "to stab me with so cruel a suspi-
cion ? " " Have patience," cries Nightingale, " and
I will tell you all. Alter the most diligent enquiry
I could make, I at last met with two of the fellows
who were present at this unhappy accident, and I am
sorry to say, they do not relate the story so much
in your favour as you yourself have told it." " Why,
what do they say?" cries Jones. "Indeed what I
am sorry to repeat, as I am afraid of the consequence
of it to you. They say that they were at too great a
distance to overhear any words that passed between
you : but they both agree that the first blow was given
by you." "Then, upon my soul," answered Jones,
"they injure me. He not only struck me first, but
struck me without the least provocation. What should
induce those villains to accuse me falsely?" "Nay,
that I cannot guess," said Nightingale, " and if you
yourself, and I, who am so heartily your friend,
cannot conceive a reason why they should belie you,
what reason will an indifferent court of justice be able
to assign why they should not believe them? I re-
peated the question to them several times, and so did
another gentleman who was present, who, I believe, is
a seafaring man, and who really acted a very friendly
part by you; for he begged them often to consider
that there was the life of a man in the case ; and asked
them over and over, if they were certain ; to which
they both answered, that they were, and would abide
by their evidence upon oath. For heaven's sake, my
dear friend, recollect yourself; for, if this should
appear to be the fact, it will be your business to think
in time of making the best of your interest. I would
not shock you ; but you know, I believe, the severity
IV. N
194 THE HISTORY OV
of the law, whatever verbal provocations may have
been given you." " Alas ! my friend," cries Jones,
" what interest hath such a wretch as I ? Besides,
do you think I would even wish to live with the re-
putation of a murderer? If I had any friends (as,
alas! I have none), could I have the confidence to
solicit them to speak in the behalf of a man condemned
for the blackest crime in human nature ? Believe me,
I have no such hope ; but I have some reliance on a
throne still greatly superior ; which will, I am certain,
afford me all the protection I merit."
He then concluded with many solemn and vehement
protestations of the truth of what he had at first
asserted.
The faith of Nightingale was now again staggered,
and began to incline to credit his friend, when Mrs
Miller appeared, and made a sorrowful report of the
success of her embassy ; which when Jones had heard,
he cried out most heroically, " Well, my friend, I am
now indifferent as to what shall happen, at least with
regard to my life ; and if it be the will of Heaven that
I shall make an atonement with that for the blood I
have spilt, I hope the Divine Goodness will one day
suffer my honour to be cleared, and that the words of
a dying man, at least, will be believed, so far as to
justify his character."
A very mournful scene now past between the pri-
soner and his friends, at which, as few readers would
have been pleased to be present, so few, I believe, will
desire to hear it particularly related. We will, there-
fore, pass on to the entrance of the turnkey, who
acquainted Jones that there was a lady without who
desired to' speak with him when he was at leisure.
Jones declared his surprize at this message. He
said, " He knew no lady in the world whom he could
possibly expect to see there." However, as he sav/ no
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. I95
reason to decline seeing any person, Mrs Miller and
Mr Nightingale presently took their leave, and he gave
orders to have the lady admitted.
If Jones was surprized at the news of a visit from a
lady, how greatly was he astonished when he dis-
covered this lady to be no other than Mrs Waters !
In this astonishment then we shall leave him awhile, in
order to cure the surprize of the reader, who will
likewise, probably, not a little wonder at the arrival of
this lady.
Who this Mrs Waters was, the reader pretty well
knows ; what she was, he must be perfectly satisfied.
He will therefore be pleased to remember that this
lady departed from Upton in the same coach with Mr
Fitzpatrick and the other Irish gentleman, and in their
company travelled to Bath.
Now there was a certain office in the gift of Mr
Fitzpatrick at that time vacant, namely that of a wife :
for the lady who had lately filled that office had
resigned, or at least deserted her duty. Mr Fitz-
patrick therefore, having thoroughly examined Mrs
Waters on the road, found her extremely fit for the
place, which, on their arrival at Bath, he presently
conferred upon her, and she without any scruple ac-
cepted. As husband and wife this gentleman and lady
continued together all the time they stayed at Bath,
and as husband and wife they arrived together in
town.
Whether Mr Fitzpatrick was so wise a man as not
to part with one good thing till he had secured another,
which he had at present only a prospect of regaining ;
or whether Mrs Waters had so well discharged her
office, that he intended still to retain her as principal,
and to make his wife (as is often the case) only her
deputy, I will not say ; but certain it is, he never
mentioned his wife to her, never communicated to her
196 THE HISTORY OF
the letter given him by Mrs Western, nor ever once
hinted his purpose of repossessing his wife ; much less
did he ever mention the name of Jones. For, though
he intended to fight with him wherever he met him, he
did not imitate those prudent persons who think a wife,
a mother, a sister, or sometimes a whole family, the
safest seconds on these occasions. The first account
therefore which she had of all this was delivered to
her from his lips, after he was brought home from the
tavern where his wound had been drest.
As Mr Fitzpatrick, however, had not the clearest
way of telling a story at any time, and was now, per-
haps, a little more confused than usual, it was some
time before she discovered that the gentleman who had
given him this wound was the very same person from
whom her heart had received a wound, which, though
not of a mortal kind, was yet so deep that it had left a
considerable scar behind it. But no sooner was she
acquainted that Mr Jones himself was the man who
had been committed to the Gatehouse for this supposed
murder, than she took the first opportunity of commit-
ting Mr Fitzpatrick to the care of his nurse, and hastened
away to visit the conqueror.
She now entered the room with an air of gaiety,
which received an immediate check from the melan-
choly aspect of poor Jones, who started and blessed
himself when he saw her. Upon which she said,
" Nay, I do not wonder at your surprize ; I believe
you did not expect to see me ; for few gentlemen are
troubled here with visits from any lady, unless a wife.
You see the power you have over me, Mr Jones. In-
deed, I little thought, when we parted at Upton, that
our next meeting would have been in such a place."
" Indeed, madam," says Jones, " I must look upon this
visit as kind ; few will follow the miserable, especially
to such dismal habitations." " I protest, Mr Jones,"
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 1 97
says she, " I can hardly persuade myself you are the
same agreeable fellow I saw at Upton. Why, your
face is more miserable than any dungeon in the universe.
What can be the matter with you ? " " I thought,
madam," said Jones, " as you knew of my being here,
you knew the unhappy reason." " Pugh ! " says she,
" you have pinked a man in a duel, that's all." Jones
exprest some indignation at this levity, and spoke with
the utmost contrition for what had happened. To
which she answered, " Well, then, sir, if you take it
so much to heart, I will relieve you ; the gentleman is
not dead, and, I am pretty confident, is in no danger of
dying. The surgeon, indeed, who first dressed him
was a young fellow, and seemed desirous of represent-
ing his case to be as bad as possible, that he might have
the more honour from curing him : but the king's
surgeon hath seen him since, and says, unless from a
fever, of which there are at present no symptoms, he
apprehends not the least danger of life." Jones shewed
great satisfaction in his countenance at this report ; upon
which she affirmed the truth of it, adding, " By the
most extraordinary accident in the world I lodge at
the same house ; and have seen the gentleman, and I
promise you he doth you justice, and says, whatever be
the consequence, that he was entirely the aggressor, and
that you was not in the least to blame."
Jones expressed the utmost satisfaction at the account
which Mrs Waters brought him. He then informed
her of many things which she well knew before, as who
Mr Fitzpatrick was, the occasion of his resentment, &c.
He likewise told her several facts of which she was
ignorant, as the adventure of the muff, and other par-
ticulars, concealing only the name of Sophia. He then
lamented the follies and vices of which he had been
guilty ; every one of which, he said, had been attended
with such ill consequences, that he should be unpardon-
198 THE HISTORY OF TOM JONES.
able if he did not take warning, and quit those vicious
courses for the futui'e. He lastly concluded with
assuring her of his resolution to sin no more, lest a
worse thing should happen to him.
Mrs Waters with great pleasantry ridiculed all this,
as the effects of low spirits and confinement. She
repeated some witticisms about the devil when he was
sick, and told him, " She doubted not but shortly to
see him at liberty, and as lively a fellow as ever ; and
then," says she, " I don't question but your conscience
will be safely delivered of all these qualms that it is
now so sick in breeding."
Many more things of this kind she uttered, some of
which it would do her no great honour, in the opinion
of some readers, to remember ; nor are we quite certain
but that the answers made by Jones would be treated
with ridicule by others. We shall therefore suppress the
rest of this conversation, and only observe that it ended
at last with perfect innocence, and much more to the
satisfaction of Jones than of the lady ; for the former
was greatly transported with the news she had brought
him ; but the latter was not altogether so pleased with
the penitential behaviour of a man whom she had, at
her first interview, conceived a very different opinion of
from what she now entertained of him.
Thus the melancholy occasioned by the report of
Mr Nightingale was pretty well effaced ; but the de-
jection into which Mrs Miller had thrown him still
continued. The account she gave so well tallied with
the words of Sophia herself in her letter, that he made
not the least doubt but that she had disclosed his letter
to her aunt, and had taken a fixed resolution to abandon
him. The torments this thought gave him were to be
equalled only by a piece of news which fortune had yet
in store for him, and which we shall communicate in
the second chapter of the ensuing book.
^•■'■•■•-•'i-i'-Vfl'riir"i
BOOK XVIII.
CONTAINING ABOUT SIX DAYS.
CMptcr t.
A fareiuel to the reader.
WE are now, reader, arrived at the last stage of
our long journey. As we have, therefore,
travelled together through so many pages,
let us behave to one another like fellow-travellers in a
stage coach, who have passed several days in the
company of each other ; and who, notwithstanding
any bickerings or little animosities which may have
occurred on the road, generally make all up at last, and
mount, for the last time, into their vehicle with chearful-
ness and good humoui- ; since after this one stage, it
may possibly happen to us, as it commonly happens to
them, never to meet more.
As I have here taken up this simile, give me leave
to carry it a little farther. I intend, then, in this last
book, to imitate the good company I have mentioned
in their last journey. Now, it is well known that all
jokes and raillery are at this time laid aside ; whatever
characters any of the passengers have for the jest-sake
personated on the road are now thrown off, and tlie
conversation is usually plain and sciious.
In the same manner, if I have now and then, in the
199
M«
200 THE HISTORY OF
course of this work, indulged any pleasantry for thy
entertainment, I shall here lay it down. The variety
of matter, indeed, which I shall be obliged to cram
into this book, will afford no room for any of those
ludicrous observations which I have elsewhere made,
and which may sometimes, perhaps, have prevented
thee from taking a nap when it was beginning to steal
upon thee. In this last book thou wilt find nothing
(or at most very little) of that nature. All will be
plain narrative only ; and, indeed, when thou hast
perused the many great events which this book will
produce, thou wilt think the number of pages contained
in it scarce sufficient to tell the story.
And now, my friend, I take this opportunity (as I
shall have no other) of heartily wishing thee well. If
I have been an entertaining companion to thee, I
promise thee it is what I have desired. If in anything
I have offended, it was really without any intention.
Some things, perhaps, here said, may have hit thee
or thy friends ; but I do most solemnly declare they
were not pointed at thee or them. I question not but
thou hast been told, among other stories of me, that
thou wast to travel with a very scurrilous fellow ; but
whoever told thee so did me an injury. No man
detests and despises scurrility more than myself; nor
hath any man more reason ; for none hath ever been
treated with more ; and what is a very severe fate,
I have had some of the abusive writings of those very
men fathered upon me, who, in other of their works,
have abused me themselves with the utmost virulence.
All these works, however, I am well convinced,
will be dead long before this page shall offer itself
to thy perusal ; for however short the period may be
of my own performances, they will most probably
outlive their own infirm author, and the weakly pro-
ductions of his abusive contemporaries.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 20I
Containing a very tragical Incident.
WHILE Jones was employed in those unpleasant
meditations, with which we left him tor-
menting himself, Partridge came stumbling
into the room with his face paler than ashes, his eyes
fixed in his head, his hair standing an end, and every
limb trembling. In short, he looked as he would have
done had he seen a spectre, or had he, indeed, been a
spectre himself.
Jones, who was little subject to fear, could not avoid
being somewhat shocked at this sudden appearance. He
did, indeed, himself change colour, and his voice a little
faultered while he asked him, What was the matter ?
" I hope, sir," said Partridge, " you will not be
angry with me. Indeed I did not listen, but I was
obliged to stay in the outward room. I am sure I
wish I had been a hundred miles off, rather than
have heard what I have heard." "Why, what is
the matter ? " said Jones. " The matter, sir ? O
good Heaven ! " answered Partridge, "was that woman
who is just gone out the woman who was with you
at Upton ? " " She was, Partridge," cried Jones.
"And did you really, sir, go to bed with that
woman ? " said he, trembling. — " I am afraid what
past between us is no secret," said Jones. — " Nay,
but pray, sir, for Heaven's sake, sir, answer me," cries
Partridge. " You know I did," cries Jones. " Why
then, the Lord have mercy upon your soul, and forgive
you," cries Partridge; "but as sure as I stand here
alive, you have been a-bed with your own mother."
Upon these words Jones became in a moment a
greater picture of horror than Partridge himself. He
was, indeed, for some time struck dumb with amazement,
202 THE HISTORY OF
and both stood staring wildly at each other. At last
his words found way, and in an interrupted voice he
said, " How ! how ! what's this you tell me ? " " Nay,
sir," cries Partridge, " I have not breath enough left
to tell you now, but what I have said is most certainly
true. — That woman who now went out is your own
mother. How unlucky was it for you, sir, that I did
not happen to see her at that time, to have prevented
it ! Sure the devil himself must have contrived to
bring about this wickedness."
" Sure," cries Jones, " Fortune will never have done
with me till she hath driven me to distraction. But
why do T blame Fortune ? I am myself the cause of
all my misery. All the dreadful mischiefs which have
befallen me are the consequences only of my own folly
and vice. What thou hast told me, Partridge, hath
almost deprived me of my senses ! And was Mrs
Waters, then — but why do I ask ? for thou must
certainly know her If thou hast any affection for
me, nay, if thou hast any pity, let me beseech thee to
fetch this miserable woman back again to me. O
good Heavens ! incest with a mother ! To what
am I reserved ! " He then fell into the most violent
and frantic agonies of grief and despair, in which Par-
tridge declared he would not leave him ; but at last,
having vented the first torrent of passion, he came a
little to himself; and then, having acquainted Partridge
that he would find this wretched woman in the same
house where the wounded gentleman was lodged, he
despatched him in quest of her.
If the reader will please to refresh his memory, by
turning to the scene at Upton, in the ninth book, he
will be apt to admire the many strange accidents which
unfortunately prevented any interview between Partridge
and Mrs Waters, when she spent a whole day there
with Mr Jones. Instances of this kind we may
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 203
frequently observe in life, where the greatest events are
produced by a nice train of little circumstances ; and
more than one example of this may be discovered by
the accurate eye, in this our history.
After a fruitless search of two or three hours, Par-
tridge returned back to his master, without having seen
Mrs Waters. Jones, who was in a state of desperation
at his delay, was almost raving mad when he brought
him his account. He was not long, however, in this
condition before he received the following letter :
" Sir,
" Since I left you I have seen a gentleman,
from whom I have learned something concerning you
which greatly surprizes and affects me ; but as I have
not at present leisure to communicate a matter of such
high importance, you must suspend your curiosity till
our next meeting, which shall be the first moment I
am able to see you. O, Mr Jones, little did I think,
when I past that happy day at Upton, the reflection
upon which is like to embitter all my future life, who
it v/as to whom I owed such perfect happiness. Be-
lieve me to be ever sincerely your unfortunate
" J. Waters."
" P.S. I would have you comfort yourself as much
as possible, for Mr Fitzpatrick is in no manner of
danger ; so that whatever other giievous crimes you
may have to repent of, the guilt of blood is not among
the number."
Jones having read the letter, let it drop (for he was
unable to hold it, and indeed had scarce the use ot any
one of his faculties). Partridge took it up, and having
received consent by silence, read it likewise ; nor had
it upon him a less sensible effect. The pencil, and
not the pen, should describe the horrors which appeared
204 THE HISTORY OF
in both their countenances. While they both re-
mained speechless the turnkey entered the room, and,
without taking any notice of what sufficiently discovered
itself in the faces of them both, acquainted Jones that
a man without desired to speak with him. This person
was presently introduced, and was no other than Black
George.
As sights of horror were not so usual to George as
they were to the turnkey, he instantly saw the great
disorder which appeared in the face of Jones. This
he imputed to the accident that had happened, which
was reported in the very worst light in Mr Western's
family ; he concluded, therefore, that the gentleman
was dead, and that Mr Jones was in a fair way of
coming to a shameful end. A thought which gave
him much uneasiness ; for George was of a com-
passionate disposition, and notwithstanding a small
breach of friendship which he had been over-tempted
to commit, was, in the main, not insensible of the obli-
gations he had formerly received from Mr Jones.
The poor fellow, therefore, scarce refrained from a
tear at the present sight. He told Jones he was
heartily sorry for his misfortunes, and begged him to
consider if he could be of any manner of service.
"Perhaps, sir," said he, "you may want a little
matter of money upon this occasion ; if you do, sir,
what little I have is heartily at your service."
Jones shook him very heartily by the hand, and gave
him many thanks for the kind offer he had made ; but
answered, " He had not the least want of that kind."
Upon which George began to press his services more
eagerly than before. Jones again thanked him, with
assurances that he wanted nothing which was in the
power of any man living to give. " Come, come, my
good master," answered George, "do not take the
matter so much to heart. Things may end better than
TOIM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 2 05
you imagine ; to be sure you an't the first gentleman
who hath killed a man, and yet come off." "You
are wide of the matter, George," said Partridge, "the
gentleman is not dead, nor like to die. Don't disturb
my master, at present, for he is troubled about a matter
in which it is not in your power to do him any good."
" You don't know what I may be able to do, Mr Par-
tridge," answered George ; " if his concern is about
my young lady, I have some news to tell my master."
" What do you say, Mr George i " cried Jones.
" Hath anything lately happened in which my Sophia
is concerned ? My Sophia ! how dares such a wretch
as I mention her so profanely." " I hope she will be
yours yet," answered George. " Why yes, sir, I have
something to tell you about her. Madam Western
hath just brought Madam Sophia home, and there hath
been a terrible to do. I could not possibly learn the
very right of it ; but my master he hath been in a vast
big passion, and so was Madam Western, and I heard
her say, as she went out of doors into her chair, that
she would never set her foot in master's house again.
I don't know what's the matter, not I, but everything
was very quiet when I came out ; but Robin, who
waited at supper, said he had never seen the squire for
a long while in such good humour with young madam ;
that he kissed her several times, and swore she should
be her own mistress, and he never would think of con-
fining her any more. I thought this news would please
you, and so I slipped out, though it was so late, to
inform you of it." Mr Jones assured George that it
did greatly please him ; for though he should never
more presume to lift his eyes toward that incomparable
creature, nothing could so much relieve his misery as
the satisfaction he should always have in hearing of her
welfare.
The rest of the conversation which passed at the
2d6 THE HISTORY OF
visit is ncyt important enough to be here related. The
reader will, therefore, forgive us this abrupt breaking
off, and be pleased to hear how this great good-will of
the squire towards his daughter was brought about.
Mrs Western, on her first arrival at her brother's
lodging, began to set forth the great honours and
advantages which would accrue to the family by the
match with Lord Fellamar, which her niece had
absolutely refused ; in which refusal, when the squire
took the part of his daughter, she fell immediately
into the most violent passion, and so irritated and pro-
voked the squire, that neither his patience nor his
prudence could bear it any longer ; upon which there
ensued between them both so warm a bout at alter-
cation, that perhaps the regions of Billingsgate never
equalled it. In the heat of this scolding Mrs Western
departed, and had consequently no leisure to acquaint
her brother with the letter which Sophia received,
which might have possibly produced ill effects ; but,
to say truth, I believe it never once occurred to her
memory at this time.
When Mrs Western was gone, Sophia, who had
been hitherto silent, as well indeed from necessity as
inclination, began to return the compliment which her
father had made her, in taking her part against her
aunt, by taking his likewise against the lady. This
was the first time of her so doing, and it was in the
highest degree acceptable to the squire. Again, he
remembered that Mr Allworthy had insisted on an
entire relinquishment of all violent means ; and, indeed,
as he made no doubt but that Jones would be hanged,
he did not in the least question succeeding with his
daughter by fair means ; he now, therefore, once more
gave a loose to his natural fondness for her, which
had such an effect on the dutiful, grateful, tender, and
affectionate heart of Sophia, that had her honour, given
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 207
to Jones, and something else, perhaps, in which he was
concerned, been removed, I much doubt whether she
would not have sacrificed herself to a man she did not
like, to have obliged her father. She promised him
she would make it the whole business of her life to
oblipe him, and would never marry any man against
his consent ; which brought the old man so near to
his highest happiness, that he was resolved to take the
other step, and went to bed completely drunk.
Cf)apter iiU
AUworthy visits old Nightingale ; tuith a strange dis-
covery that he made on thai occasion.
THE morning after these things had happened, Mr
AUworthy went, according to his promise, to
visit old Nightingale, with whom his authority
was so great, that, after having sat with him three hours,
he at last prevailed with him to consent to see his son.
Here an accident happened of a very extraordinary
kind ; one indeed of those strange chances whence very
good and grave men have concluded that Providence
often interposes in the discovery of the most secret
villany, in order to caution men from quitting the paths
of honesty, however warily they tread in those of vice.
Mr Allworthy, at his entrance into Mr Nightingale's,
saw Black George ; he took no notice of him, nor did
Black George imagine he had perceived him.
However, when their conversation on the principal
point was over, Allworthy asked Nightingale, Whether
he knew one George Seagrim, and upon what business
he came to his house ? " Yes," answered Nightingale,
" I know him very well, and a most extraordinary
fellow he is, who, in these days, hath been able to
2o8 THE HISTORY OF
hoard up .^500 from renting a very small estate of ^30
a year." " And is this the story which he hath told
you ? " cries AUworthy. " Nay, it is true, I promise
you," said Nightingale, " for I have the money now in
my own hands, in five bank-bills, which I am to lay
out either in a mortgage, or in some purchase in the
north of England." The bank-bills were no sooner
produced at Allworthy's desire than he blessed himself
at the strangeness of the discovery. He presently told
Nightingale that these bank-bills were formerly his,
and then acquainted him with the whole affair. As
there are no men who complain more of the frauds of
business than highwaymen, gamesters, and other thieves
of that kind, so there are none who so bitterly exclaim
against the frauds of gamesters, &c., as usurers, brokers,
and other thieves of this kind ; whether it be that the
one way of cheating is a discountenance or reflection
upon the other, or that money, which is the common
mistress of all cheats, makes them regard each other in
the light of rivals ; but Nightingale no sooner heard the
story than he exclaimed against the fellow in terms
much severer than the justice and honesty of AUworthy
had bestowed on him.
AUworthy desired Nightingale to retain both the
money and the secret till he should hear farther from
him ; and, if he should in the meantime see the fellow,
that he would not take the least notice to him of the
discovery which he had made. He then returned to
his lodgings, where he found Mrs Miller in a very
dejected condition, on account of the information she
had received from her son-in-law. Mr AUworthy,
with great chearfulness, told her that he had much good
news to communicate ; and, with little further preface,
acquainted her that he had brought Mr Nightingale to
consent to see his son, and did not in the least doubt to
effect a perfect reconciliation between them ; though he
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 209
found the father more sowered by another accident of the
same kind which had happened in his family. He then
mentioned the running away of the uncle's daughter,
which he had been told by the old gentleman, and
which Mrs Miller and her son-in-law did not yet
know.
The reader may suppose Mrs Miller received this
account with great thankfulness, and no less pleasure ;
but so uncommon was her friendship to Jones, that I
am not certain whether the uneasiness she suffered for
his sake did not overbalance her satisfaction at hearing
a piece of news tending so much to the happiness of her
own family ; nor whether even this very news, as it
reminded her of the obligations she had to Jones, did
not hurt as well as please her ; when her grateful heart
said to her, "While my own family is happy, how
miserable is the poor creature to whose generosity we
owe the beginning of all this happiness! "
Allworthy, having left her a little while to chew the
cud (if I may use that expression) on these first tidings,
told her he had still something more to impart, which
he believed would give her pleasure. " I think," said
he, " I have discovered a pretty considerable treasure
belonging to the young gentleman, your friend ; but
perhaps, indeed, his present situation may be such that
it vidll be of no service to him." The latter part of
the speech gave Mrs Miller to understand who was
meant, and she answered with a sigh, " I hope not,
sir." " I hope so too," cries Allworthy, " with all
my heart ; but my nephew told me this morning he
had heard a very bad account of the affair."
" Good Heaven ! sir," said she — " Well, I must not
speak, and yet it is certainly very hard to be obliged
to hold one's tongue when one hears." "Madam,"
said Allworthy, " you may say whatever you please,
you know me too well to think I have a prejudice
IV. o
2IO THE HISTORY OF
against any one ; and as for that young man, I assure
you I should be heartily pleased to find he could acquit
himself of everything, and particularly of this sad affair.
You can testify the affection I have formerly borne
him. The world, I know, censured me for loving
him so much. I did not withdraw that affection from
him without thinking I had the justest cause. Believe
me, Mrs Miller, I should be glad to find I have been
mistaken." Mrs Miller was going eagerly to reply,
when a servant acquainted her that a gentleman without
desired to speak with her immediately. Allworthy
then enquired for his nephew, and was told that he
had been for some time in his room with the gentleman
who used to come to him, and whom Mr Allworthy
guessing rightly to be Mr Dowling, he desired presently
to speak with him.
When Dowling attended, Allworthy put the case
of the bank-notes to him, without mentioning any name,
and asked in what manner such a person might be
punished. To which Dowling answered, " He thought
he might be indicted on the Black Act ; but said, as
it was a matter of some nicety, it would be proper to
go to counsel. He said he was to attend counsel
presently upon an affair of Mr Western's, and if Mr
Allworthy pleased he would lay the case before them."
This was agreed to ; and then Mrs Miller, opening
the door, cried, " I ask pardon, I did not know you
had company ; " but Allworthy desired her to come
in, saying he had finished his business. Upon which
Mr Dowling withdrew, and Mrs Miller introduced
Mr Nightingale the younger, to return thanks for the
great kindness done him by Allworthy : but she had
scarce patience to let the young gentleman finish his
speech before she interrupted him, saying, " O sir !
Mr Nightingale brings great news about poor Mr Jones :
he hath been to see the wounded gentleman, who is
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 211
out of all danger of death, and, what is more, declares
he fell upon poor Mr Jones himself, and beat him. I
am sure, sir, you would not have Mr Jones be a coward.
If I was a man myself, I am sure, if any man was
to strike me, I should draw my sword. Do pray,
my dear, tell Mr Allworthy, tell him all yourself."
Nightingale then confirmed what Mrs Miller had said ;
and concluded with many handsome things of Jones,
who was, he said, one of the best-natured fellows in
the world, and not in the least inclined to be quarrel-
some. Here Nightingale was going to cease, when
Mrs Miller again begged him to relate all the many
dutiful expressions he had heard him make use of
towards Mr Allworthy. " To say the utmost good
of Mr Allworthy," cries Nightingale, " is doing no
more than strict justice, and can have no merit in it :
but indeed, I must say, no man can be more sensible
of the obligations he hath to so good a man than is
poor Jones. Indeed, sir, I am convinced the weight
of your displeasure is the heaviest burthen he lies under.
He hath often lamented it to me, and hath as often
protested in the most solemn manner he hath never
been intentionally guilty of any offence towards you ;
nay, he hath sworn he would rather die a thousand
deaths than he would have his conscience upbraid him
with one disrespectful, ungrateful, or undutitul thought
towards you. But I ask pardon, sir, I am afraid I
presume to intermeddle too far in so tender a point."
" You have spoke no more than what a Christian ought,"
cries Mrs Miller. " Indeed, Mr Nightingale," an-
swered Allworthy, " I applaud your generous friend-
ship, and I wish he may merit it of you. I confess
I am glad to hear the report you bring from this un-
fortunate gentleman ; and, if that matter should turn out
to be as you represent it (and, indeed, I doubt nothing
of what you say), I may, perhaps, in time, be brought to
212 THE HISTORY OK
think better than lately I have of this young man ; for
this good gentlewoman here, nay, all who know me,
can witness that I loved him as dearly as if he had
been my own son. Indeed, I have considered him as
a child sent by fortune to my care. I still remember
the innocent, the helpless situation in which I found
him. I feel the tender pressure of his little hands at
this moment. He was my darling, indeed he was."
At which words he ceased, and the tears stood in
his eyes.
As the answer which Mrs Miller made may lead us
into fresh matters, we will here stop to account for the
visible alteration in Mr Allworthy's mind, and the
abatement of his anger to Jones. Revolutions of this
kind, it is true, do frequently occur in histories and
dramatic writers, for no other reason than because the
history or play draws to a conclusion, and are justified
by authority of authors ; yet, though we insist upon as
much authority as any author whatever, we shall use
this power very sparingly, and never but when we are
di'iven to it by necessity, which we do not at present
foresee will happen in this work.
This alteration then in the mind of Mr Allworthy
was occasioned by a letter he had just received from
Mr Square, and which we shall give the reader in the
beginning oi the next chapter.
Confaln'mg tiuo letters in very different stiles.
" A A" Y Worthy Friend, — I informed you in my last
I y 1^ that I was forbidden the use of the waters,
as they were found by experience rather to
increase than lessen the symptoms of my distemper. I
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 213
must now acquaint you with a piece of news, which, I
beheve, will afflict my friends more than it hath afflicted
me. Dr Harrington and Dr Brewster have informed
me that there is no hopes of my recovery.
" I have somewhere read, that the great use of
philosophy is to learn to die. I will not therefore so
far disgrace mine as to shew any surprize at receiving a
lesson which I must be thought to have so long studied.
Yet, to say the truth, one page of the Gospel teaches
this lesson better than all the volumes of antient or
modern philosophers. The assurance it gives us of
another life is a much stronger support to a good mind
than all the consolations that are drawn from the neces-
sity of nature, the emptiness or satiety of our enjoy-
ments here, or any other topic of those declamations
which are sometimes capable of arming our minds with
a stubborn patience in bearing the thoughts of death,
but never of raising them to a real contempt of it, and
much less of making us think it is a real good. I would
not here be understood to throw the horrid censure of
atheism, or even the absolute denial of immortality, on
all who are called philosophers. Many of that sect, as
well antient as modern, have, from the light of reason,
discovered some hopes of a future state ; but in reality,
that light was so faint and glimmering, and the hopes
were so incertain and precarious, that it may be justly
doubted on which side their belief turned. Plato him-
self concludes his Phasdon with declaring that his best
arguments amount only to raise a probability ; and Cicero
himself seems rather to profess an inclination to believe,
than any actual belief in the doctrines of immortality.
As to myself, to be very sincere with you, I never was
much in earnest in this faith till I was in earnest a
Christian.
" You will perhaps wonder at the latter expression ;
but I assure you it hath not been till very lately that I
214 THE HISTORY OF
could, with truth, call myself so. The pride of philo-
sophy had intoxicated my reason, and the sublimest of
all wisdom appeared to me, as it did to the Greeks of
old, to be foolishness. God hath, however, been so
gracious to shew me my error in time, and to bring me
into the way of truth, before I sunk into utter darkness
for ever.
" I find myself beginning to grow weak, I shall
therefore hasten to the main purpose of this letter.
" When I reflect on the actions of my past life, I
know of nothing which sits heavier upon my conscience
than the injustice I have been guilty of to that poor
wretch your adopted son. I have, indeed, not only
connived at the villany of others, but been myselt
active in injustice towards him. Believe me, my dear
friend, when I tell you, on the word of a dying man,
he hath been basely injured. As to the principal fact,
upon the misrepresentation of which you discarded him,
I solemnly assure you he is innocent. When you lay
upon your supposed deathbed, he was the only person
in the house who testified any real concern ; and what
happened afterwards arose from the wildness of his joy
on your recovery ; and, I am sorry to say it, from the
baseness of another person (but it is my desire to juslity
the innocent, and to accuse none). Believe me, my
friend, this young man hatli the noblest generosity of
heart, the most perfect capacity for friendship, the
highest integrity, and indeed every virtue which can
ennoble a man. He hath some faults, but among them
is not to be numbered the least want ot duty or grati-
tude towards you. On the contrary, I am satisfied,
when you dismissed him from your house, his heart
bled for you more than for himself.
" Worldly motives were the wicked and base reasons
of my concealing this from you so long : to reveal it
now I can have no inducement but the desire of serving
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 215
the cause of truth, of doing right to the innocent, and
of making all the amends in my power for a past
offence. I hope this declaration, therefore, will have
the effect desired, and will restore this deserving young
man to your favour ; the hearing of which, while I am
yet alive, will afford the utmost consolation to,
Sw,
Your most obliged,
obedient humble servant,
Thomas Square."
The reader will, after this, scarce wonder at the
revolution so visibly appearing in Mr Allworthy, not-
withstanding he received from Thwackum, by the
same post, another letter of a very different kind,
which we shall here add, as it may possibly be the
last time we shall have occasion to mention the name
of that gentleman.
" I am not at all surprized at hearing from your
worthy nephew a fresh instance of the villany of Mr
Square the atheist's young pupil. I shall not wonder
at any murders he may commit ; and I heartily pray
that your own blood may not seal up his final commit-
ment to the place of wailing and gnashing of teeth.
" Though you cannot want sufficient calls to re-
pentance for the many unwarrantable weaknesses ex-
emplified in your behaviour to this wretch, so much to
the prejudice of your own lawful family, and of your
character ; I say, though these may sufficiently be
supposed to prick and goad your conscience at this
season, I should yet be wanting to my duty, if I spared
to give you some admonition in order to bring you
to a due sense of your errors. I therefore pray you
seriously to consider the judgment which is likely to
2l6 THE HISTORY OF
overtake this wicked villain ; and let it serve at least
as a warning to you, that you may not for the future
despise the advice of one who is so indefatigable in his
prayers for your welfare.
" Had not my hand been withheld from due correc-
tion, I had scourged much of this diabolical spirit out of
a boy, of whom from his infancy I discovered the devil
had taken such entire possession. But reflections of
this kind now come too late.
" I am sorry you have given away the living of
Westerton so hastily. I should have applied on that
occasion earlier, had I thought you would not have
acquainted me previous to the disposition. Your
objection to pluralities is being righteous over-much.
If there were any crime in the practice, so many godly
men would not agree to it. If the vicar of Aldergrove
should die (as we hear he is in a declining way), I
hope you will think of me, since I am certain you must
be convinced of my most sincere attachment to your
highest welfare — a welfare to which all worldly con-
siderations are as trifling as the small tithes mentioned
in Scripture are, when compared to the weighty matters
of the law.
I am, sir,
Your faithful humble servant,
Roger Thwackum."
This was the first time Thwackum ever wrote in
this authoritative stile to Allworthy, and of this he
had afterwards sufficient reason to repent, as in the
case of those who mistake the highest degree of good-
ness for the lowest degree of weakness. Allworthy
had indeed never liked this man. He knew him to
be proud and ill-natured ; he also knew that his
divinity itself was tinctured with his temper, and such
as in many respects he himself did by no means
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 217
approve ; but he was at the same time an excellent
scholar, and most indefatigable in teaching the two
lads. Add to this, the strict severity of his life and
manners, an unimpeached honesty, and a most devout
attachment to religion. So that, upon the whole,
though Allworthy did not esteem nor love the man,
yet he could never bring himself to part with a tutor to
the boys, who was, both by learning and industry,
extremely well qualified for his office ; and he hoped,
that as they were bred up in his own house, and under
his own eye, he should be able to correct whatever
was wrong in Thwackum's instructions.
In ivhich the history is continued.
MR Allworthy, in his last speech, had recol-
lected some tender ideas concerning Jones,
which had brought tears into the good man's
eyes. This Mrs Miller observing, said, "Yes, yes,
sir, your goodness to this poor young man is known,
notwithstanding all your care to conceal it ; but there
is not a single syllable of truth in what those villains
said. Mr Nightingale hath now discovered the whole
matter. It seems these fellows were employed by a
lord, who is a rival of poor Mr Jones, to have pressed
him on board a ship. 1 assure them I don't know
who they will press next. Mr Nightingale here hath
seen the officer himself, who is a very pretty gentle-
man, and hath told him all, and is very sorry for what
he undertook, which he would never have done, had
he known Mr Jones to have been a gentleman ; but he
was told that he was a common strolling vagabond."
Allworthy stared at all this, and declared he was a
2l8 THE HISTORY OF
Stranger to every word she said. " Yes, sir," answered
she, " I believe you are. It is a very different
story, I believe, from what those fellows told the
lawyer."
" What lawyer, madam ? what is it you mean ? "
said AUworthy. " Nay, nay," said she, " this is so
like you to deny your own goodness : but Mr Nightin-
gale here saw him." " Saw whom, madam ? " answered
he. " Why, your lawyer, sir," said she, " that you so
kindly sent to enquire into the affair." " I am still in
the dark, upon my honour," said AUworthy. " Why
then do you tell him, my dear sir," cries she. " In-
deed, sir," said Nightingale, " I did see that very
lawyer who went from you when I came into the
room, at an alehouse in Aldersgate, in company
with two of the fellows who were employed by
Lord Fellamar to press Mr Jones, and who were
by that means present at the unhappy rencounter be-
tween him and Mr Fitzpatrick." " I own, sir," said
Mrs Miller, "when I saw this gentleman come into the
room to you, I told Mr Nightingale that I apprehended
you had sent him thither to inquire into the affair."
AUworthy shewed marks of astonishment in his coun-
tenance at this news, and was indeed for two or three
minutes struck dumb by it. At last, addi^essing him-
self to Mr Nightingale, he said, " I must confess myself,
sir, more surprized at what you tell me than I have ever
been before at anything in my whole life. Are you
certain this was the gentleman ? " "I am most cer-
tain," answered Nightingale. "At Aldersgate ?" cries
AUworthy. " And was you in company with this
lawyer and the two fellows ? " — " I was, sir," said
the other, " very near half an hour." " Well, sir," said
AUworthy, " and in what manner did the lawyer be-
have : did you hear all that past between him and the
fellows ? " " No, sir," answered Nightingale, " they
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 219
had been together before I came. — In my presence the
lawyer said little ; but, after T had several times exa-
mined the fellows, who persisted in a story directly
contrary to what I had heard from Mr Jones, and
which I find by Mr Fitzpatrick was a rank falshood,
the lawyer then desired the fellows to say nothing but
what was the truth, and seemed to speak so much in
favour of Mr Jones, that, when I saw the same person
with you, I concluded your goodness had prompted you
to send him thither." — " And did you not send him
thither ? " says Mrs Miller. — " Indeed I did not,"
answered Allworthy ; " nor did I know he had gone
on such an errand till this moment." — " I see it all ! "
said Mrs Miller, " upon my soul, I see it all ! No
wonder they have been closeted so close lately. Son
Nightingale, let me beg you run for these fellows im-
mediately find them out if they are above-ground.
I will go myself" "Dear madam," said Allworthy,
" be patient, and do me the favour to send a servant
upstairs to call Mr Dowling hither, if he be in the
house, or, if not, Mr Blifil." Mrs Miller went out
muttering something to herself, and presently returned
with an answer, " That Mr Dowling was gone ; but
that the t'other," as she called him, " was coming."
Allworthy was of a cooler disposition than the good
woman, whose spirits were all up in arms in the cause
of her friend. He was not however without some sus-
picions which were near akin to hers. When Blifil
came into the room, he asked him with a very serious
countenance, and with a less friendly look than he had
ever before given him, "Whether he knew anything of
Ml- Dowling's having seen any of the persons who were
present at the duel between Jones and another gentle-
man
There is nothing so dangerous as a question which
comes by surprize on a man whose business it is to
2 20 THE HISTORY OF
conceal truth, or to defend falshood. For which
reason those worthy personages, whose noble office it
is to save the lives of their fellow-creatures at the Old
Bailey, take the utmost care, by frequent previous exa-
mination, to divine every question which may be asked
their clients on the day of tryal, that they may be sup-
plyed with proper and ready answers, which the most
fertile invention cannot supply in an instant. Besides,
the sudden and violent impulse on the blood, occasioned
by these surprizes, causes frequently such an alteration
in the countenance, that the man is obliged to give
evidence against himself. And such indeed were the
alterations which the countenance of Blifil underwent
from this sudden question, that we can scarce blame
the eagerness of Mrs Miller, who immediately cryed
out, " Guilty, upon my honour ! guilty, upon my
soul ! "
Mr Allworthy sharply rebuked her for this im-
petuosity ; and then turning to Blifil, who seemed sink-
ing into the earth, he said, " Why do you hesitate, sir,
at giving me an answer ? You certainly must have
employed him ; for he would not, of his own accord,
I believe, have undertaken such an errand, and especially
without acquainting me."
Blifil then answered, " I own, sir, I have been guilty
of an offence, yet may I hope your pardon ? "
" My pardon," said Allworthy, very angrily.
" Nay, sir," answered Blifil, " I knew you would be
offended ; yet surely my dear uncle will forgive the
effects of the most amiable of human weaknesses.
Compassion for those who do not deserve it, I own
is a crime ; and yet it is a crime from which you
yourself are not entirely free. I know I have been
guilty of it in more than one instance to this very per-
son ; and I will own I did send Mr Dowling, not on a
vain and fruitless enquiry, but to discover the witnesses.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 22 1
and to endeavour to soften their evidence. This, sir,
is the truth ; which, though I intended to conceal from
you, I will not deny."
" I confess," said Nightingale, " this is the light
in which it appeared to me from the gentleman's
behaviour."
" Now, madam," said Allworthy, " I believe you
will once in your life own you have entertained a wrong
suspicion, and are not so angry with my nephew as you
was."
Mrs Miller was silent ; for, though she could not so
hastily be pleased with Blifil, whom she looked upon
to have been the ruin of Jones, yet in this particular
instance he had imposed upon her as well as upon the
rest ; so entirely had the devil stood his fiiend. And,
indeed, I look upon the vulgar observation, " That the
devil often deserts his friends, and leaves them in the
lurch," to be a great abuse on that gentleman's character.
Perhaps he may sometimes desert those who are only
his cup acquaintance ; or who, at most, are but half his ;
but he generally stands by those who are thoroughly his
servants, and helps them off in all extremities, till their
bargain expires.
As a conquered rebellion strengthens a government,
or as health is more perfectly established by recovery
from some diseases ; so anger, when removed, often
aives new life to affection. This was the case of Mr
Allworthy; for Blifil having wiped off the greater
suspicion, the lesser, which had been raised by Square's
letter, sunk of course, and was forgotten ; and Thwackum,
with whom he was greatly offended, bore alone all the
reflections which Square had cast on the enemies of
Jones.
As for that young man, the resentment of Mr
Allworthy began more and more to abate towards
him. He told Blifil, " He did not only forgive the
222 THE HISTORY OF
extraordinary efforts of his good-nature, but would
give him the pleasure of following his example."
Then, tuiTiing to Mrs Miller with a smile which
would have become an angel, he cryed, " What say
you, madam ? shall we take a hackney-coach, and
all of us together pay a visit to your friend ? I
promise you it is not the first visit I have made in
a prison."
Every reader, I believe, will be able to answer for
the worthy woman ; but they must have a great deal
of good-nature, and be well acquainted with friendship,
who can feel what she felt on this occasion. Few,
I hope, are capable of feeling what now passed in the
mind of Blifil ; but those who are will acknowledge
that it was impossible for him to raise any objection to
this visit. Fortune, however, or the gentleman lately
mentioned above, stood his friend, and prevented his
undergoing so great a shock ; for at the very instant
when the coach was sent for. Partridge arrived, and,
having called Mrs Miller from the company, acquainted
her with the dreadful accident lately come to light ;
and hearing Mr Allworthy's intention, begged her to
find some means of stopping him : " For," says he,
" the matter must at all hazards be kept a secret from
him ; and if he should now go, he will find Mr Jones
and his mother, who arrived just as I left him, lament-
ing over one another the horrid crime they have ignorantly
committed."
The poor woman, who was almost deprived of her
senses at his dreadful news, was never less capable of
invention than at present. However, as women are
much readier at this than men, she bethought herself
of an excuse, and, returning to Allworthy, said, " I
am sure, sir, you will be surprized at hearing any
objection from me to the kind proposal you just now
made ; and yet I am afraid of the consequence of it,
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 223
if carried immediately into execution. You must ima-
gine, sir, that all the calamities which have lately
befallen this poor young fellow must have thrown him
into the lowest dejection of spirits ; and now, sir,
should we all on a sudden fling him into such a violent
fit of joy, as I know your presence will occasion, it
may, I am afraid, produce some fatal mischief, especially
as his servant, who is without, tells me he is very far
from being well."
" Is his servant without ? " cries All worthy ; " pray
call him hither. I will ask him some questions con-
cerning his master."
Partridge was at first afraid to appear before Mr
Allworthy ; but was at length persuaded, after Mrs
Miller, who had often heard his whole story from his
own mouth, had promised to introduce him.
Allworthy recollected Partridge the moment he
came into the room, though many years had passed
since he had seen him. Mrs Miller, therefore, might
have spared here a formal oration, in which, indeed,
she was something prolix ; for the reader, I believe,
may have observed already that the good woman,
among other things, had a tongue always ready for the
service of her friends.
" And are you," said Allworthy to Partridge, " the
servant of Mr Jones ? " "I can't say, sir," answered
he, "that I am regularly a servant, but I live with
him, an't please your honour, at present. Non sum
quails eram, as your honour very well knows."
Mr Allworthy then asked him many questions con-
cerning Jones, as to his health, and other matters ;
to all which Partiidge answered, without having the
least regard to what was, but considered only what he
would have things appear ; for a strict adherence to
truth was not among the articles of this lionest fellow's
morality or his religion.
2 24 THE HISTORY OF
During this dialogue Mr Nightingale took his leave,
and presently after Mrs Miller left the room, when
Allworthy likewise despatched Blifil ; for he imagined
that Partridge when alone with him would be more
explicit than before company. They were no sooner
left in private together than Allworthy began, as in
the following chapter.
C-Iiapter bi»
In nvh'ich the history is farther continued.
« OURE, friend," said the good man, "you are
j^ the strangest of all human beings. Not only
to have suffered as you have formerly for
obstinately persisting in a falshood, but to persist in
it thus to the last, and to pass thus upon the world
for a servant of your own son ! What interest can
you have in all this ? What can be youi" motive ? "
" I see, sir," said Partridge, falling down upon his
knees, " that your honour is prepossessed against me,
and resolved not to believe anything I say, and, there-
fore, what signifies my protestations ? but yet there is
one above who knows that I am not the father of this
young man."
" How ! " said Allworthy, " will you yet deny
what you was formerly convicted of upon such un-
answerable, such manifest evidence ? Nay, what a
confirmation is your being now found with this very
man, of all which twenty years ago appeared against
you ! I thought you had left the country ! nay, I
thought you had been long since dead. — In what
manner did you know anything of this young man ?
Where did you meet with him, unless you had kept
some correspondence together ? Do not deny this ;
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 225
for I promise you it will greatly raise your son in
my opinion, to find that he hath such a sense of filial
duty as privately to support his father for so many
years."
" If your honour will have patience to hear me,"
said Partridge, " I will tell you all." — Being bid go
on, he proceeded thus : " When you honour conceived
that displeasure against me, it ended in my ruin soon
after ; for I lost my little school ; and the minister,
thinking I suppose it would be agreeable to your
honour, turned me out from the office of clerk ; so
that I had nothing to trust to but the barber's shop,
which, in a country place like that, is a poor livelihood ;
and when my wife died (for till that time I received
a pension of ^12 a year from an unknown hand, which
indeed I believe was your honour's own, for nobody
that ever I heard of doth these things besides) — but,
as I was saying, when she died, this pension forsook
me ; so that now, as I owed two or three small debts,
which began to be troublesome to me, particularly one *
which an attorney brought up by law-charges from i ^s.
to near ^30, and as I found all my usual means of
living had forsook me, I packed up my little all as
well as I could, and went off.
" The first place I came to was Salisbury, where I
got into the service of a gentleman belonging to the
law, and one of the best gentlemen that ever I knew,
for he was not only good to me, but I know a thousand
good and charitable acts which he did while I staid
* This is a fact which I knew happen to a poor clergyman in
Dorsetshire, by the villany of an attorney who, not contented with
the exorbitant" costs to which the poor man was put by a single
action, brought afterwards another action on the judgment, as
it was called. A method frequently used to oppress the poor,
and bring money into the pockets of attorneys, to the great
scandal of the law, of the nation, of Christianity, and even of
human nature itself.
IV. P
2 26 THE HISTORY OF
with him ; and I have known him often refuse business
because it was paultry and oppressive." " You need
not be so particular," said Allworthy ; " I know this
gentleman, and a very worthy man he is, and an honour
to his profession." "Well, sir," continued Par-
tridge, " from hence I removed to Lymington, where I
was above three years in the service of another lawyer,
who was likewise a very good sort of a man, and to be
sure one of the merriest gentlemen in England. Well,
sir, at the end of the three years I set up a little school,
and was likely to do well again, had it not been for a
most unlucky accident. Here I kept a pig ; and one
day, as ill fortune would have it, this pig broke out,
and did a trespass, I think they call it, in a garden
belonging to one of my neighbours, who was a proud,
revengeful man, and employed a lawyer, one — one — I
can't think of his name ; but he sent for a writ against
me, and had me to size. When I came there, Lord
have mercy upon me — to hear what the counsellors
said ! There was one that told my lord a parcel of
the confoundedest lies about me ; he said that I used to
drive my hogs into other folk's gardens, and a great deal
more ; and at last he said, he hoped I had at last brought
my hogs to a fair market. To be sure, one would have
thought that, instead of being owner only of one poor
little pig, I had been the greatest hog-merchant in Eng-
land. Well — " " Pray," said Allworthy, " do not
be so particular, I have heard nothing of your son yet."
" O it was a great many years," answered Partridge,
" before I saw my son, as you are pleased to call him. —
I went over to Ireland after this, and taught school at
Cork (for that one suit mined me again, and I lay
seven years in Winchester jail)." " Well,"said All-
worthy, "pass that over till your return to England."
— " Then, sir," said he, " it was about half a year ago
that I landed at Bristol, where I staid some time, and
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 227
not finding it do there, and hearing of a place between
that and Gloucester where the barber was just dead, I
went thither, and there I had been about two months
when Mr Jones came thither." He then gave All-
worthy a very particular account of their first meeting,
and of everything, as well as he could remember, which
had happened from that day to this ; frequently interlard-
ing his story with panegyrics on Jones, and not forgetting
to insinuate the great love and respect which he had
for Allworthy. He concluded with saying, "Now,
sir, I have told your honour the whole truth." And
then repeated a most solemn protestation, "That he
was no more the father of Jones than of the Pope of
Rome ; " and imprecated the most bitter curses on
his head, if he did not speak truth.
" What am I to think of this matter ? " cries All-
worthy. " For what purpose should you so strongly
deny a fact which I think it would be rather your
interest to own ? " " Nay, sir," answered Partridge
(for he could hold no longer), "if your honour will
not believe me, you are like soon to have satisfaction
enough. I wish you had mistaken the mother of this
young man, as well as you have his father." — And now
being asked what he meant, with all the symptoms of
horror, both in his voice and countenance, he told
Allworthy the whole story, which he had a little before
expressed such desire to Mrs Miller to conceal from
him.
Allworthy was almost as much shocked at this dis-
covery as Partridge himself had been while he related it.
" Good heavens ! " says he, " in what miserable dis-
tresses do vice and imprudence involve men ! How
much beyond our designs are the effects of wickedness
sometimes carried ! " He had scarce uttered these
words, when Mrs Waters came hastily and abruptly
into the room. Partridge no sooner saw her than he
2 28 THE HISTORY OF
cried, " Here, sir, here is the very woman herself.
This is the unfortunate mother of Mr Jones. I am
sure she will acquit me before your honour. Pray,
madam "
Mrs Waters, without paying any regard to what
Partridge said, and almost without taking any notice
of him, advanced to Mr Allworthy. " I believe, sir,
it is so long since I had the honour of seeing you, that
you do not recollect me." " Indeed," answered All-
worthy, " you are so very much altered, on many
accounts, that had not this man already acquainted me
who you are, I should not have immediately called
you to my remembrance. Plave you, madam, any
particular business which brings you to me?" All-
worthy spoke this with great reserve ; for tlie reader
may easily believe he was not well pleased with the
conduct of this lady ; neither with what he had
formerly heard, nor with what Partridge had now
delivered.
Mrs Waters answered — " Indeed, sir, I have very
particular business with you ; and it is such as I can
impart only to yourself. I must desire, therefore, the
favour of a word with you alone: for I assure you
what I have to tell you is of the utmost importance."
Partridge was then ordered to withdraw, but before
he went, he begged the lady to satisfy Mr Allworthy
that he was perfectly innocent. To which she
answered, " You need be under no apprehension, sir ;
I shall satisfy Mr Allworthy very perfectly of that
matter."
Then Partridge v/ithdrew, and that past between
Mr Allworthy and Mrs Waters which is written in
the next chapter.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 229
Cl&apter bij.
Continuation of the history.
MRS Waters remaining a few moments silent, Mr
AUworthy could not refrain from saying, " I
am sorry, madam, to perceive, by what I have
since heard, that you have made so very ill a use "
" Mr AUworthy," says she, interrupting him, " I
know I have faults, but ingratitude to you is not one
of them. I never can nor shall forget your goodness,
which I own I have very little deserved ; but be
pleased to wave all upbraiding me at present, as I
have so important an affair to communicate to you
concerning this young man, to whom you have given
my maiden name of Jones."
" Have I then," said AUworthy, " ignorantly
punished an innocent man, in the person of him who
hath just left us ? Was he not the father of the
child ? " " Indeed he was not," said Mrs Waters.
"You may be pleased to remember, sir, I formerly
told you, you should one day know ; and I acknow-
ledge myself to have been guilty of a cruel neglect,
in not having discovered it to you before. Indeed, I
little knew how necessary it was." "Well, madam,"
said AUworthy, " be pleased to proceed." " You
must remember, sir," said she, " a young fellow,
whose name was Summer." " Very well," cries
AUworthy, " he was the son of a clergyman of great
learning and vii'tue, for whom I had the highest
friendship." " So it appeared, sir," answered she ;
" for I believe you bred the young man up, and main-
tained him at the university ; where, I think, he had
finished his studies, when he came to reside at your
house ; a finer man, I must say, the sun never shone
230 THE HISTORY OF
upon ; for, besides the handsomest person I ever saw,
he was so genteel, and had so much wit and good
breeding." "Poor gentleman," said Allworthy, "he
was indeed untimely snatched away ; and little did I
think he had any sins of this kind to answer for ; for
I plainly perceive you are going to tell me he was the
father of your child."
" Indeed, sir," answered she, " he was not."
" How ! " said Allworthy, " to what then tends all
this preface ? " " To a story," said she, " which I
am concerned falls to my lot to unfold to you. O,
sir ! prepare to hear something which will surprize
you, will grieve you." " Speak," said Allworthy, " I
am conscious of no crime, and cannot be afraid to
hear." " Sir," said she, " that Mr Summer, the son
of your friend, educated at your expense, who, after
living a year in the house as if he had been your own
son, died there of the small-pox, was tenderly lamented
by you, and buried as if he had been your own ;
that Summer, sir, was the father of this child."
" How ! " said Allworthy ; " you contradict your-
self." "That I do not," answered she; "he was
indeed the father of this child, but not by me."
" Take care, madam," said Allworthy, " do not, to
shun the imputation of any crime, be guilty of falshood.
Remember there is One from whom you can conceal
nothing, and before whose tribunal falshood will only
aggravate your guilt." " Indeed, sir," says she, " I
am not his mother ; nor would I now think myself so
for the world." " I know your reason," said All-
worthy, "and shall rejoice as much as you to find it
otherwise ; yet you must remember, you yourself con-
fest it before me." " So far what I confest," said
she, " was true, that these hands conveyed the infant
to your bed ; conveyed it thither at the command of
its mother ; at her commands I afterwards owned it.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 23 1
and thought myself, by her generosity, nobly rewarded,
both for my secrecy and my shame." "Who could
this woman be ? " said Allworthy. " Indeed, I tremble
to name her," answered Mrs Waters. " By all this
preparation I am to guess that she was a relation of
mine," cried he. " Indeed she was a near one." At
which words Allworthy started, and she continued —
" You had a sister, sir." " A sister ! " repeated he,
looking aghast. — " As there is truth in heaven," cries
she, " your sister was the mother of that child you
found between your sheets." " Can it be possible ? "
cries he, " Good heavens ! " " Have patience, sir,"
said Mrs Waters, " and I will unfold to you the whole
story. Just after your departure for London, Miss
Bridget came one day to the house of my mother.
She was pleased to say she had heard an extraordinary
character of me, for my learning and superior under-
standing to all the young women there, so she was
pleased to say. She then bid me come to her to the
great house ; where, when I attended, she employed
me to read to her. She expressed great satisfaction in
my reading, shewed great kindness to me, and made
me many presents. At last she began to catechise me
on the subject of secrecy, to which I gave her such
satisfactory answers, that, at last, having locked the
door of her room, she took me into her closet, and
then locking that door likewise, she said she should
convince me of the vast reliance she had on my integrity,
by communicating a secret in which her honour, and
consequently her life, was concerned. She then stopt,
and after a silence of a few minutes, duiung which she
often wiped her eyes, she enquired of me if I thought
my mother might safely be confided in. I answered,
I would stake my life on her fidelity. She then im-
parted to me the great secret which laboured in her
breast, and which, I believe, was delivered with more
232 THE HISTORY OF
pains than she afterwards suffered in child-biith. It
was then contrived that my mother and myself only
should attend at the time, and that Mrs Wilkins should
be sent out of the way, as she accordingly was, to the
very furthest part of Dorsetshire, to enquire the char-
acter of a servant ; for the lady had turned away her
own maid near three months before ; during all which
time I officiated about her person upon trial, as she
said, though, as she afterwards declared, I was not
sufficiently handy for the place. This, and many other
such things which she used to say of me, were all
thrown out to prevent any suspicion which Wilkins
might hereafter have, when I was to own the child ;
for she thought it could never be believed she would
venture to hurt a young woman with whom she had
intrusted such a secret. You may be assui"ed, sir, I
was well paid for all these affronts, which, together
with being informed with the occasion of them, very
well contented me. Indeed, the lady had a greater
suspicion of Mrs Wilkins than of any other person ;
not that she had the least aversion to the gentlewoman,
but she thought her incapable of keeping a secret,
especially from you, sir ; for I have often heard Miss
Bridget say, that, if Mrs Wilkins had committed a
murder, she believed she would acquaint you with it.
At last the expected day came, and Mrs Wilkins, who
had been kept a week in readiness, and put off from
time to time, upon some pretence or other, that she
might not return too soon, was dispatched. Then the
child was born, in the presence only of myself and my
mother, and was by my mother conveyed to her own
house, where it was privately kept by her till the even-
ing of youi" return, when I, by the command of Miss
Bridget, conveyed it into the bed where you found it.
And all suspicions were afterwards laid asleep by the
artful conduct of your sister, in pretending ill-will to
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 233
the boy, and that any regard she shewed him was out
of meer complacence to you."
Mrs Waters then made many protestations of the
truth of this story, and concluded by saying, " Thus,
sir, you have at last discovered your nephew ; for so
I am sure you will hereafter think him, and I question
not but he will be both an honour and a comfort to
you under that appellation."
" I need not, madam," said Allworthy, " express
my astonishment at what you have told me ; and yet
surely you would not, and could not, have put together
so many circumstances to evidence an untruth. I con-
fess I recollect some passages relating to that Summer,
which formerly gave me a conceit that my sister had
some liking to him. I mentioned it to her ; for I had
such a regard to the young man, as well on his own
account as on his father's, that I should willingly have
consented to a match between them ; but she exprest
the highest disdain of my unkind suspicion, as she
called it ; so that I never spoke more on the subject.
Good heavens ! Well ! the Lord disposeth all things.
Yet sure it was a most unjustifiable conduct in my
sister to carry this secret with her out of the world."
" I promise you, sir," said Mrs Waters, " she always
profest a contrary intention, and frequently told me she
intended one day to communicate it to you. She said,
indeed, she was highly rejoiced that her plot had suc-
ceeded so well, and that you had of your own accord
taken such a fancy to the child, that it was yet un-
necessary to make any express declaration. Oh ! sir,
had that lady lived to have seen this poor young man
turned like a vagabond from your house: nay, sir,
could she have lived to hear that you had yourself
employed a lawyer to prosecute him for a murder of
which he was not guilty Forgive me, Mr All-
worthy, I must say it was unkind. — Indeed, you have
2 34 THE HISTORY OF
been abused, he never deserved it of you." " Indeed,
madam," said Allworthy, " I have been abused by the
person, whoever he was, that told you so." " Nay,
sir," said she, " I would not be mistaken, I did not
presume to say you were guilty of any wrong. The
gentleman who came to me proposed no such matter ;
he only said, taking me for Mr Fitzpatrick's wife, that,
if Mr Jones had murdered my husband, I should be
assisted with any money I wanted to carry on the
prosecution, by a very worthy gentleman, who, he said,
was well apprized what a villain I had to deal with.
It was by this man I found out who Mr Jones was ;
and this man, whose name is Dowling, Mr Jones tells
me is your steward. I discovered his name by a very
odd accident ; for he himself refused to tell it me ;
but Partridge, who met him at my lodgings the second
time he came, knew him formerly at Salisbury."
" And did this Mr Dowling," says Allworthy, with
great astonishment in his countenance, " tell you that
I would assist in the prosecution ? " " No, sir,"
answered she, " I will not charge him wrongfully.
He said I should be assisted, but he mentioned no
name. Yet you must pardon me, sir, if from circum-
stances I thought it could be no other." " Indeed,
madam," says Allworthy, "from circumstances I am
too well convinced it was another. Good Heaven !
by what wonderful means is the blackest and deepest
villany sometimes discovered! — Shall I beg you,
madam, to stay till the person you have mentioned
comes, for I expect him every minute ? nay, he may
be, perhaps, already in the house."
Allworthy then stept to the door, in order to call a
servant, when in came, not Mr Dowling, but the
gentleman who will be seen in the next chapter.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 235
Cj^apter )aiiu
Further continuation.
THE gentleman who now arrived was no other
than Mr Western. He no sooner saw All-
worthy, than, without considering in the least
the presence of Mrs Waters, he began to vociferate in
the following manner : " Fine doings at my house !
A rare kettle of fish I have discovered at last !
who the devil would be plagued with a daughter ? "
"What's the matter, neighbour?" said Allworthy.
" Matter enough," answered Western : " when I
thought she was just a coming to ; nay, when she had
in a manner promised me to do as I would ha her,
and when I was a hoped to have had nothing more to
do than to have sent for the la\vyer, and finished all ;
what do you think I have found out? that the little
b — hath bin playing tricks with me all the while, and
carrying on a correspondence with that bastard of yours.
Sister Western, whom I have quarrelled with upon her
account, sent me word o't, and I ordered her pockets
to be searched when she was asleep, and here I have
got un signed with the son of a whore's own name. I
have not had patience to read half o't, for 'tis longer
than one of parson Supple's sermons ; but I find plainly
it is all about love ; and indeed what should it be else ?
I have packed her up in chamber again, and to-morrow
morning down she goes into the country, unless she
consents to be married directly, and there she shall live
in a garret upon bread and water all her days ; and the
sooner such a b — breaks her heart the better, though,
d — n her, that I believe is too tough. She will live
long enough to plague me." " Mr Western," answered
Allworthy, " you know I have always protested against
force, and you yourself consented that none should be
236 THE HISTORY OF
used." "Ay," cries he, "that was only upon con-
dition that she would consent without. What the devil
and doctor Faustus ! shan't I do what I will with my
own daughter, especially when I desire nothing but her
own good?" "Well, neighbour," answered All-
worthy, " if you will give me leave, I will undertake
once to argue with the young lady." " Will you ? "
said Western ; " why that is kind now, and neigh-
bourly, and mayhap you will do more than I have been
able to do with her ; for I promise you she hath a very
good opinion of you." "Well, sir," said Allworthy,
" if you will go home, and release the young lady from
her captivity, I will wait upon her within this half-
hour." " But suppose," said Western, " she should
run away with un in the meantime ? For lawyer
Dowling tells me there is no hopes of hanging the
fellow at last ; for that the man is alive, and like to do
well, and that he thinks Jones will be out of prison
again presently." " How ! " said Allworthy ; " what,
did you employ him then to enquire or to do anything
in that matter ? " " Not I," answered Western, " he
mentioned it to me just now of his own accord."
" Just now ! " cries Allworthy, " why, where did you
see him then ? I want much to see Mr Dowling."
"Why, you may see un an you will presently at my
lodgings ; for there is to be a meeting of lawyers
there this morning about a mortgage. 'Icod ! I shall
lose two or dree thousand pounds, I believe, by that
honest gentleman, Mr Nightingale." "Well, sir,"
said Allworthy, " I will be with you within the half-
hour." "And do for once," cries the squire, "take
a fool's advice ; never think of dealing with her by
gentle methods, take my word for it those will never
do. I have tried 'um long enough. She must be
frightened into it, there is no other way. Tell her
I'm her father ; and of the horrid sin of disobedience,
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 237
and of the dreadful punishment of it in t'other world,
and then tell her about being locked up all her life in
a garret in this, and being kept only on bread and
water." " I will do all I can," said Allworthy ; " for
I promise you there is nothing I wish for more than an
alliance with this amiable creature." "Nay, the girl
is well enough for matter o'that," cries the squire ; " a
man may go farther and meet with worse meat ; that
I may declare o'her, thof she be my own daughter.
And if she will but be obedient to me, there is narrow
a father within a hundred miles o' the place, that loves
a daughter better than I do ; but I see you are busy
with the lady here, so I will go huome and expect you ;
and so your humble servant."
As soon as Mr Western was gone Mrs Waters said,
" I see, sir, the squire hath not the least remembrance
of my face. I believe, Mr Allworthy, you would not
have known me neither. I am very considerably
altered since that day when you so kindly gave me
that advice, which I had been happy had I followed."
"Indeed, madam," cries Allworthy, "it gave me
great concern when I first heard the contrary."
" Indeed, sir," says she, " I was ruined by a very
deep scheme of villany, which if you knew, though I
pretend not to think it would justify me in your
opinion, it would at least mitigate my offence, and
induce you to pity me : you are not now at leisure
to hear my whole story ; but this I assure you, I was
betrayed by the most solemn promises of marriage ;
nay, in the eye of heaven I was married to him ; for,
after much reading on the subject, I am convinced
that particular ceremonies are only requisite to give a
legal sanction to marriage, and have only a worldly
use in giving a woman the privileges of a wife ; but
that she who lives constant to one man, after a solemn
private affiance, whatever the world may call her, hath
238 THE HISTORY OF
little to charge on her own conscience." " I am
sorry, madam," said Allworthy, " you made so ill a
use of your learning. Indeed, it would have been well
that you had been possessed of much more, or had
remained in a state of ignorance. And yet, madam,
I am afraid you have more than this sin to answer
for." " During his life," answered she, " which was
above a dozen years, I most solemnly assure you I had
not. And consider, sir, on my behalf, what is in the
power of a woman stript of her reputation and left
destitute ; whether the good-natured world will suffer
such a stray sheep to return to the road of virtue, even
if she was never so desirous. I protest, then, I would
have chose it had it been in my power ; but necessity
drove me into the arms of Captain Waters, with whom,
though still unmarried, I lived as a wife for many
years, and went by his name. I parted with this
gentleman at Worcester, on his march against the
rebels, and it was then I accidentally met with Mr
Jones, who rescued me from the hands of a villain.
Indeed, he is the worthiest of men. No young
gentleman of his age is, I believe, freer from vice, and
few have the twentieth part of his virtues ; nay, what-
ever vices he hath had, I am firmly persuaded he hath
now taken a resolution to abandon them." " I hope
he hath," cries Allworthy, "and I hope he will pre-
serve that resolution. I must say, I have still the
same hopes with regard to yourself. The world, I
do agree, are apt to be too unmerciful on these occa-
sions ; yet time and perseverance will get the better of
this their disinclination, as I may call it, to pity ; for
though they are not, like heaven, ready to receive
a penitent sinner ; yet a continued repentance will
at length obtain mercy even with the world. This
you may be assured of, Mrs Waters, that whenever
I find you are sincere in such good intentions, you
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 239
shall want no assistance in my power to make them
effectual."
Mrs Waters fell now upon her knees before him,
and, in a flood of tears, made him many most passionate
acknowledgments of his goodness, which, as she
truly said, savoured more of the divine than human
nature.
AUworthy raised her up, and spoke in the most
tender manner, making use of every expression which
his invention could suggest to comfort her, when he
was interrupted by the arrival of Mr Dowling, who,
upon his first entrance, seeing Mrs Waters, started,
and appeared in some confusion ; from which he soon
recovered himself as well as he could, and then said
he was in the utmost haste to attend counsel at Mr
Western's lodgings ; but, however, thought it his duty
to call and acquaint him with the opinion of counsel
upon the case which he had before told him, which
was that the conversion of the moneys in that case
could not be questioned in a criminal cause, but that
an action of trover might be brought, and if it appeared
to the jury to be the moneys of plaintiff, that plaintifl^
would recover a verdict for the value.
AUworthy, without making any answer to this,
bolted the door, and then, advancing with a stern look
to Dowling, he said, " Whatever be your haste, sir, I
must first receive an answer to some questions. Do
you know this lady?" "That lady, sir!"
answered Dowling, with great hesitation. Allworthy
then, with the most solemn voice, said, " Look you,
Mr Dowling, as you value my favour, or your
continuance a moment longer in my service, do not
hesitate nor prevaricate ; but answer faithfully and
truly to every question I ask. Do you know this
lady ? " " Yes, sir," said Dowling, " I have seen
the lady." "Where, sir?" " At her own lodgings."
240 THE HISTORY OF
— " Upon what business did you go thither, sir ; and
who sent you ? " " I went, sir, to enquire, sir, about
Mr Jones." " And who sent you to enquire about
him ? " " Who, sir ? why, sir, Mr Blifil sent me."
" And what did you say to the lady concerning that
matter ? " " Nay, sir, it is impossible to recollect
every word." "Will you please, madam, to assist
the gentleman's memory ? " " He told me, sir," said
Mrs Waters, " that if Mr Jones had murdered my
husband, I should be assisted by any money I wanted
to carry on the prosecution, by a very worthy gentle-
man, who was well apprized what a villain I had to
deal with. These, I can safely swear, were the very
words he spoke." — " Were these the words, sir ? "
said Allworthy. " I cannot charge my memory
exactly," cries Dowling, " but I believe I did speak
to that purpose." — " And did Mr Blifil order you to
say so ? " "I am sure, sir, I should not have gone
on my own accord, nor have willingly exceeded my
authority in matters ol this kind. If I said so, I must
have so understood Mr Blifil's instructions." " Look
you, Mr Dowling," said Allworthy ; " I promise you
before this lady, that whatever you have done in this
affair by Mr Blifil's order I will forgive, provided you
now tell me strictly the truth ; for I believe what you
say, that you would not have acted of your own accord
and without authority in this matter. Mr Blifil then
likewise sent you to examine the two fellows at Alders-
gate ? " — " He did, sir." " Well, and what instruc-
tions did he then give you ? Recollect as well as you
can, and tell me, as near as possible, the very words he
used." "Why, sir, Mr Blifil sent me to find out
the persons who were eye-witnesses of this fight. He
said, he feared they might be tampered with by Mr
Jones, or some of his friends. He said, blood re-
quired blood ; and that not only all who concealed a
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 24 1
murderer, but those who omitted anything in their
power to bring him to justice, were sharers in his guilt.
He said, he found you was very desirous of having the
villain brought to justice, though it was not proper you
should appear in it." " He did so ? " says Allworthy. —
" Yes, sir," cries Dowling ; " I should not, I am sure,
have proceeded such lengths for the sake of any other
person living but your worship." — "What lengths,
sir ? " said Allworthy. — " Nay, sir," cries Dowling,
" I would not have your worship think I would, on
any account, be guilty of subornation of perjury ; bur
there are two ways of delivering evidence. I told
them, therefore, that if any offers should be made them
on the other side, they should refuse them, and that
they might be assured they should lose nothing by
being honest men, and telling the truth. I said, we
were told that Mr Jones had assaulted the gentleman
first, and that, if that was the truth, they should declare
it ; and I did give them some hints that they should be
no losers." — " I think you went lengths indeed," cries
Allworthy. " Nay, sir," answered Dowling, " I
am sure I did not desire them to tell an untruth ;
nor should I have said what I did, unless it had been
to oblige you." " You would not have thought, I
believe," says Allworthy, " to have obliged me, had
you known that this Mr Jones was my own nephew."
" I am sure, sir," answered he, " it did not be-
come me to take any notice of what I thought you
desired to conceal." — " How ! " cries Allworthy,
" and did you know it then ? " — " Nay, sir," answered
Dowling, " if your worship bids me speak the truth, I
am sure I shall do it. — Indeed, sir, I did know it ; tor
they were almost the last words which Madam Blifil
ever spoke, which she mentioned to me as I stood
alone by her bedside, when she delivered me the letter
I brought your worship from her." — "What letter ? "
IV. Q.
242 THE HISTORY OF
cries Allworthy. — " The letter, sir," answered Dow-
ling, " which I brought from Salisbury, and which
I delivered into the hands of Mr Blifil." "O
heavens ! " cries Allworthy : " Well, and what were
the words ? What did my sister say to you ? " —
" She took me by the hand," answered he, " and, as
she delivered me the letter, said, ' I scarce know what
I have written. Tell my brother, Mr Jones is his
nephew — He is my son. — Bless him,' says she, and
then fell backward, as if dying away. I presently
called in the people, and she never spoke more to me,
and died within a few minutes afterwards." — All-
worthy stood a minute silent, lifting up his eyes ; and
then, turning to Dowling, said, " How came you, sir,
not to deliver me this message?" "Your worship,"
answered he, " must remember that you was at that
time ill in bed ; and, being in a violent hurry, as indeed
I always am, I delivered the letter and message to Mr
Blifil, who told me he would carry them both to you,
which he hath since told me he did, and that your
worship, partly out of friendship to Mr Jones, and
partly out of regard to your sister, would never have
it mentioned, and did intend to conceal it from the
world ; and therefore, sir, if you had not mentioned
it to me first, I am certain I should never have thought
it belonged to me to say anything of the matter, either
to your worship or any other person."
We have remarked somewhere already, that it is
possible for a man to convey a lie in the words of
truth ; this was the case at present ; for Blifil had, in
fact, told Dowling what he now related, but had not
imposed upon him, nor indeed had imagined he was
able so to do. In reality, the promises which Blifil
had made to Dowling were the motives which had in-
duced him to secrecy ; and, as he now very plainly
saw Blifil would not be able to keep them, he thought
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 243
proper now to make this confession, which the promises
of forgiveness, joined to the threats, the voice, the looks
of Allworthy, and the discoveries he had made before,
extorted from him, who was besides taken unawares,
and had no time to consider of evasions.
Allworthy appeared well satisfied with this relation,
and, having enjoined on Dowling strict silence as to
what had past, conducted that gentleman himself to the
door, lest he should see Blifil, who was returned to his
chamber, where he exulted in the thoughts of his last
deceit on his uncle, and little suspected what had since
passed below-stairs.
As Allworthy was returning to his room he met
Mrs Miller in the entry, who, with a face all pale and
ftill of terror, said to him, " O ! sir, I find this wicked
woman hath been with you, and you know all ; yet do
not on this account abandon the poor young man.
Consider, sir, he was ignorant it was his own mother ;
and the discovery itself will most probably break his
heart, without your unkindness."
" Madam," says Allworthy, " I am under such an
astonishment at what I have heard, that I am really
unable to satisfy you ; but come with me into my
room. Indeed, Mrs Miller, I have made surprizing
discoveries, and you shall soon know them."
The poor woman followed him trembling ; and now
Allworthy, going up to Mrs Waters, took her by the
hand, and then, turning to Mrs Miller, said, " What
reward shall I bestow upon this gentlewoman, for the
services she hath done me ? — O ! Mrs Miller, you
have a thousand times heard me call the young man to
whom you are so faithful a friend, my son. Little did
I then think he was indeed related to me at all. — Your
friend, madam, is my nephew; he is the brother of
that wicked viper which I have so long nourished in
my bosom. — She will herself tell you the whole story.
244 THE HISTORY OF
and how the youth came to pass for her son. Indeed,
Mrs Miller, I am convinced that he hath been wronged,
and that I have been abused ; abused by one whom
you too justly suspected of being a villain. He is, in
truth, the worst of villains."
The joy which Mrs Miller now felt bereft her of
the power of speech, and might perhaps have deprived
her of her senses, if not of life, had not a friendly
shower of tears come seasonably to her relief. At
length, recovering so far from her transport as to be
able to speak, she cried, " And is my dear Mr Jones
then your nephew, sir, and not the son of this lady ?
And are youi" eyes opened to him at last ? And shall
I live to see him as happy as he deserves ? " " He
certainly is my nephew," says Allworthy, "and I hope
all the rest." — " And is this the dear good woman,
the person," cries she, " to whom all this discovery is
owing ? " — " She is indeed," says Allworthy. — " Why,
then," cried Mrs Miller, upon her knees, " may
Heaven shower down its choicest blessings upon her
head, and for this one good action forgive her all her
sins, be they never so many ! "
Mrs Waters then informed them that she believed
Jones would very shortly be released ; for that the
surgeon was gone, in company with a nobleman, to
the justice who committed him, in order to certify
that Mr Fitzpatrick was out of all manner of danger,
and to procure his prisoner his liberty.
Allworthy said he should be glad to find his
nephew there at his return home ; but that he was
then obliged to go on some business of consequence.
He then called to a servant to fetch him a chair, and
presently left the two ladies together.
Mr Blifil, hearing the chair ordered, came down-
stairs to attend upon his uncle; for he never was
deficient in such acts of duty. He asked his uncle
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 245
if he was going out, which is a civil way of asking a
man whither he is going : to which the other making
no answer, he again desired to know when he would
be pleased to return ? — All worthy made no answer
to this neither, till he was just going into his chair,
and then, turning about, he said — " Harkee, sir, do
you find out, before my return, the letter which your
mother sent me on her death-bed." Allworthy then
departed, and left Blifil in a situation to be envied only
by a man who is just going to be hanged.
A further continuation.
ALLWORTHY took an opportunity, whilst he was
^ in the chair, of reading the letter from Jones
to Sophia, which Western delivered him ; and
there were some expressions in it concerning himself
which drew tears from his eyes. At length he arrived
at Mr Western's, and was introduced to Sophia.
When the first ceremonies were past, and the gentle-
man and lady had taken their chairs, a silence of some
minutes ensued ; during which the latter, who had been
prepared for the visit by her father, sat playing with
her fan, and had every mark of confusion both in her
countenance and behaviour. At length Allworthy,
who was himself a little disconcerted, began thus : " I
am afraid. Miss Western, my family hath been the
occasion of giving you some uneasiness ; to which, I
fear, I have innocently become more instrumental than
I intended. Be assured, madam, had I at first known
how disagreeable the proposals had been, I should not
have suffered you to have been so long persecuted. I
hope, therefore, you will not think the design of this
246 THE HISTORY OF
visit is to trouble you with any further solicitations of
that kind, but entirely to relieve you from them."
" Sir," said Sophia, with a little modest hesitation,
"this behaviour is most kind and generous, and such
as I could expect only from Mr Allworthy ; but as
you have been so kind to mention this matter, you will
pardon me for saying it hath, indeed, given me great
uneasiness, and hath been the occasion of my suffering
much cruel treatment from a father who was, till that
unhappy affair, the tenderest and fondest of all parents.
I am convinced, sir, you are too good and generous to
resent my refusal of your nephew. Oui" inclinations
are not in our own power ; and whatever may be his
merit, I cannot force them in his favour." " I assure
you, most amiable young lady," said Allworthy, " I
am capable of no such resentment, had the person been
my own son, and had I entertained the highest esteem
for him. For you say truly, madam, we cannot force
our inclinations, much less can they be directed by
another." " Oh ! sir," answered Sophia, " every
word you speak proves you deserve that good, that
great, that benevolent character the whole world allows
you. I assure you, sir, nothing less than the certain
prospect of future misery could have made me resist the
commands of my father." " I sincerely believe you,
madam," replied Allworthy, "and I heartily con-
gratulate you on your prudent foresight, since by so
justifiable a resistance you have avoided misery indeed ! "
" You speak now, Mr Allworthy," cries she, " with a
delicacy which few men are capable of feeling ! but
surely, in ray opinion, to lead our lives with one to
whom we are indifferent must be a state of wretched-
ness.— Perhaps that wretchedness would be even in-
creased by a sense of the merits of an object to whom
we cannot give our affections. If I had married Mr
Blifil " " Pardon my interrupting you, madam,"
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 247
answered Allworthy, " but I cannot bear the supposi-
tion.— Believe me, Miss Western, I rejoice from my
heart, I rejoice in your escape. 1 have discovered
the wretch for whom you have suffered all this cruel
violence from your father to be a villain." " How,
sir ! " cries Sophia — " you must believe this surprizes
me." " It hath surprized me, madam," answered
Allworthy, "and so it will the world. — But I have
acquainted you with the real truth." "Nothing but
truth," says Sophia, " can, I am convinced, come from
the lips of Mr Allworthy. Yet, sir, such sudden,
such unexpected news. Discovered, you say
may villany be ever so ! " " You will soon enough
hear the story," cries Allworthy ; — " at present let us
not mention so detested a name. — I have another matter
of a very serious nature to propose. — O ! Miss Western,
I know your vast worth, nor can I so easily part with
the ambition of being allied to it. — I have a near rela-
tion, madam, a young man whose character is, I am
convinced, the very opposite to that of this wretch, and
whose fortune I will make equal to what his was to
have been. Could I, madam, hope you would admit
a visit from him ? " Sophia, after a minute's silence,
answered, " I will deal with the utmost sincerity with
Mr Allworthy. His character, and the obligation I
have just received from him, demand it. I have de-
termined at present to listen to no such proposals from
any person. My only desire is to be restored to the
affection of my father, and to be again the mistress of
his family. This, sir, I hope to owe to youi" good
offices. Let me beseech you, let me conjure you, by
all the goodness which I, and all who know you, have
experienced, do not, the very moment when you have
released me from one persecution, do not engage me in
another as miserable and as fruitless." " Indeed, Miss
Western," replied Allworthy, " I am capable of no
248 THE HISTORY OF
such conduct ; and if this be your resolution, he must
submit to the disappointment, whatever torments he
may sufFer under it." " I must smile now, Mr All-
worthy," answered Sophia, " when you mention the
torments of a man whom I do not know, and who
can consequently have so little acquaintance with me."
" Pardon me, dear young lady," cries Allworthy, " I
begin now to be afraid he hath had too much acquaint-
ance for the repose of his future days ; since, if ever
man was capable of a sincere, violent, and noble passion,
such, I am convinced, is my unhappy nephew's for
Miss Western." "A nephew of your's, Mr All-
worthy ! " answered Sophia. " It is surely strange.
I never heard of him before." " Indeed, madam,"
cries Allworthy, "it is only the circumstance of his
being my nephew to which you are a stranger, and
which, tiU this day, was a secret to me. — ^Mr Jones,
who has long loved you, he ! he is my nephew ! "
" Mr Jones your nephew, sir ! " cries Sophia, " can it
be possible ? " — " He is, indeed, madam," answered
Allworthy ; " he is my own sister's son — as such I
shall always own him ; nor am I ashamed of own-
ing him. I am much more ashamed of my past be-
haviour to him ; but I was as ignorant of his merit as
of his birth. Indeed, Miss Western, I have used
him cruelly Indeed I have." Here the good
man wiped his eyes, and after a short pause proceeded
— " I never shall be able to reward him for his suffer-
ings without your assistance. Believe me, most
amiable young lady, I must have a great esteem of
that offering which I make to your worth. I know
he hath been guilty of faults ; but there is great good-
ness of heart at the bottom. Believe me, madam, there
is." Here he stopped, seeming to expect an answer,
which he presently received from Sophia, after she
had a little recovered herself from the hurry of spirits
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 249
into which so strange and sudden information had
thrown her : " I sincerely wish you joy, sir, of a
discovery in which you seem to have such satisfac-
tion. I doubt not but you will have all the comfort
you can promise yourself from it. The young gentle-
man hath certainly a thousand good qualities, which
makes it impossible he should not behave well to such
an uncle." — " I hope, madam," said Allworthy, " he
hath those good qualities which must make him a
good husband. — He must, I am sure, be of all men
the most abandoned, if a lady of your merit should
condescend " "You must pardon me, Mr All-
worthy," answered Sophia ; " I cannot listen to a
proposal of this kind. Mr Jones, I am convinced,
hath much merit ; but I shall never receive Mr Jones
as one who is to be my husband — Upon my honour
I never will." — " Pardon me, madam," cries All-
worthy, "if I am a little surprized, after what I
have heard from Mr Western 1 hope the unhappy
young man hath done nothing to forfeit your good
opinion, if he had ever the honour to enjoy it. —
Perhaps, he may have been misrepresented to you, as
he was to me. The same villany may have injured
him everywhere. — He is no murderer, I assure you ;
as he hath been called." — " Mr Allworthy," answered
Sophia, " I have told you my resolution. I wonder
not at what my father hath told you ; but, whatever
his apprehensions or fears have been, if I know my
heart, I have given no occasion for them ; since it
hath always been a fixed principle with me, never to
have married without his consent. This is, I think,
the duty of a child to a parent ; and this, I hope,
nothing could ever have prevailed with me to swerve
from. I do not indeed conceive that the authority of
any parent can oblige us to marry in direct opposition
to our inclinations. To avoid a force of this kind.
250 THE HISTORY OF
which I had reason to suspect, I left my father's
house, and sought protection elsewhere. This is the
truth of my story ; and if the world, or my father,
carry ray intentions any farther, my own conscience
will acquit me." " I hear you. Miss Western," cries
Allworthy, " with admiration. I admire the justness
of your sentiments ; but surely there is more in this.
I am cautious of offending you, young lady ; but am
I to look on all which I have hitherto heard or seen
as a dream only ? And have you suffered so much
cruelty from your father on the account of a man to
whom you have been always absolutely indifferent ? "
" I beg, Mr Allworthy," answered Sophia, " you will
not insist on my reasons; — yes, I have suffered indeed;
I will not, Mr Allworthy, conceal 1 will be veiy
sincere with you — I own I had a great opinion of
Mr Jones — I believe — I know I have suffered for my
opinion — I have been treated cruelly by my aunt, as
well as by my father ; but that is now past — I beg I
may not be farther pressed ; for, whatever hath been,
my resolution is now fixed. Your nephew, sir, hath
many virtues — he hath great virtues, Mr Allworthy.
I question not but he will do you honour in the
world, and make you happy." — " I wish I could
make him so, madam," replied Allworthy ; " but that
I am convinced is only in your power. It is that
conviction which hath made me so earnest a solicitor
in his favour." " You are deceived indeed, sir ; you
are deceived," said Sophia. " I hope not by him.
It is sufficient to have deceived me. Mr All-
worthy, I must insist on being pressed no farther on
this subject. I should be sorry — nay, I will not
injure him in your favour. I wish Mr Jones very
well. I sincerely wish him well ; and I repeat it
again to you, whatever demerit he may have to me,
I am certain he hath many good qualities. I do
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 25 1
not disown my former thoughts ; but nothing can
ever recal them. At present there is not a man
upon earth whom I would more resolutely reject than
Mr Jones ; nor would the addresses of Mr Blifil him-
self be less agreeable to me."
Western had been long impatient for the event of
this conference, and was just now arrived at the door
to listen ; when, having heard the last sentiments of
his daughter's heart, he lost all temper, and, bursting
open the door in a rage, cried out — " It is a lie ! It
is a d — n'd lie ! It is all owing to that d — n'd rascal
Jones ; and if she could get at un, she'd ha un any hour
of the day." Here All worthy interposed, and ad-
dressing himself to the squire with some anger in his
look, he said, " Mr Western, you have not kept your
word with me. You promised to abstain from all
violence." — "Why, so I did," cries Western, "as
long as it was possible ; but to hear a wench telling
such confounded lies Zounds ! doth she think, if
she can make vools of other volk, she can make one
of me ? No, no, I know her better than thee dost."
" I am sorry to tell you, sir," answered Allworthy, " it
doth not appear, by your behaviour to this young lady,
that you know her at all. I ask pardon for what I
say : but I think our intimacy, your own desires, and
the occasion justify me. She is your daughter, Mr
Western, and I thiink she doth honour to your name.
If I was capable of envy, I should sooner envy you on
this account than any other man whatever." — " Odrabbit
it ! " cries the squire, " I wish she was thine, with all
my heart — wouldst soon be glad to be rid of the trouble
o' her." " Indeed, my good friend," answered All-
worthy, " you yourself are the cause of all the trouble
you complain of. Place that confidence in the young
lady which she so well deserves, and I am certain you
will be the happiest father on earth." " I confidence
252 THE HISTORY OF
in her ? " cries the squire. " 'Sblood ! what confidence
can I place in her, when she won't do as I would ha'
her ? Let her gi' but her consent to marry as I would
ha' her, and I'll place as much confidence in her as
wouldst ha' me." " You have no right, neighbour
answered AUworthy, " to insist on any such consent,
A negative voice your daughter allows you, and God
and nature have thought proper to allow you no more.'
— " A negative voice ! " cries the squire, " Ay ! ay
I'll show you what a negative voice I ha. — Go along
go into your chamber, go, you stubborn ." " In-
deed, Mr Western," said AUworthy, " indeed you use
her cmelly — I cannot bear to see this — you shall, you
must behave to her in a kinder manner. She deserves
the best of treatment." " Yes, yes," said the squire,
" I know what she deserves : now she's gone, I'll
shew you what she deserves. See here, sir, here is a
letter from my cousin, my Lady Bellaston, in which
she is so kind to gi' me to understand that the fellow
is got out of prison again ; and here she advises me to
take all the care I can o' the wench. Odzookers !
neighbour AUworthy, you don't know what it is to
govern a daughter."
The squire ended his speech with some compliments
to his own sagacity ; and then AUworthy, after a formal
preface, acquainted him with the whole discovery which
he had made concerning Jones, with his anger to Blifil,
and with every particular which hath been disclosed to
the reader in the preceding chapters.
Men over-violent in their dispositions are, for the
most part, as changeable in them. No sooner then
was Western informed of Mr Allworthy's intention to
make Jones his heir, than he joined heartily with the
uncle in every commendation ot the nephew, and be-
came as eager for her marriage with Jones as he had
before been to couple her to Blifil.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 253
Here Mr Allworthy was again forced to interpose,
and to relate what had passed between him and Sophia,
at which he testified great surprize.
The squire was silent a moment, and looked wild
with astonishment at this account. — At last he cried
out, " Why, what can be the meaning of this, neighbour
Allworthy ? Vond o' un she was, that I'll be sworn
to. Odzookers ! I have hit o't. As sure as a
gun I have hit o' the very right o't. It's all along
o' zister. The gii-l hath got a hankering after this son
of a whore of a lord. I vound 'em together at my
cousin my Lady Bellaston's. He hath turned the
head o' her, that's certain — but d — n me if he shall ha
her — I'll ha no lords nor courtiers in my vamily."
Allworthy now made a long speech, in which he
repeated his resolution to avoid all violent measures,
and very earnestly recommended gentle methods to Mr
Western, as those by which he might be assured of
succeeding best with his daughter. He then took his
leave, and returned back to Mrs Miller, but was forced
to comply with the earnest entreaties of the squire, in
promising to bring Mr Jones to visit him that afternoon,
that he might, as he said, " make all matters up with
the young gentleman." At Mr Allworthy's departure,
Western promised to follow his advice in his behaviour
to Sophia, saying, " I don't know how 'tis, but d — n
me, Allworthy, if you don't make me always do just
as you please ; and yet I have as good an esteate as
you, and am in the commission of the peace as well as
yourself."
254 THE HISTORY OF
CNpter r*
Wherein the history begins to draw towards a conclusion.
WHEN All worthy returned to his lodgings, he
heard Mr Jones was just arrived before
him. He hurried therefore instantly into
an empty chamber, whither he ordered Mr Jones to be
brought to him alone.
It is impossible to conceive a more tender or moving
scene than the meeting between the uncle and nephew
(for Mrs Waters, as the reader may well suppose, had
at her last visit discovered to him the secret of his
birth). The first agonies of joy which were felt on
both sides are indeed beyond my power to describe : I
shall not therefore attempt it. After Allworthy had
raised Jones from his feet, where he had prostrated
himself, and received him into his arms, " O my
child ! " he cried, " how have I been to blame ! how
have I injui"ed you ! What amends can I ever make
you for those unkind, those unjust suspicions which I
have entertained, and for all the sufferings they have
occasioned to you ? " " Am I not now made amends ? "
cries Jones. "Would not my sufferings, if they had
been ten times greater, have been now richly repaid ?
O my dear uncle, this goodness, this tenderness over-
powers, unmans, destroys me. I cannot bear the
transports which flow so fast upon me. To be again
restored to your presence, to your favour ; to be once
more thus kindly received by my great, my noble, my
generous benefactor." — " Indeed, child," cries All-
worthy, " I have used you cruelly." He then
explained to him all the treachery of Blifil, and again
repeated expressions of the utmost concern, for having
been induced by that treachery to use him so ill. " O,
talk not so ! " answered Jones ; " indeed, sir, you have
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 255
used me nobly. The wisest man might be deceived
as you were ; and, under such a deception, the best
must have acted just as you did. Your goodness dis-
played itself in the midst of your anger, just as it then
seemed. I owe everything to that goodness, of which
I have been most unworthy. Do not put me on self-
accusation, by carrying your generous sentiments too
far. Alas ! sir, I have not been punished more than I
have deserved ; and it shall be the whole business of
my future life to deserve that happiness you now bestow
on me ; for, believe me, my dear uncle, my punish-
ment hath not been thrown away upon me ; though I
have been a great, I am not a hardened sinner ; I
thank Heaven, I have had time to reflect on my past
life, where, though I cannot charge myself with any
gross villany, yet I can discern follies and vices more
than enough to repent and to be ashamed of; follies
which have been attended with dreadful consequences
to myself, and have brought me to the brink of
destruction." " I am rejoiced, my dear child,"
answered Allworthy, "to hear you talk thus sen-
sibly ; for as I am convinced hypocrisy (good Heaven !
how have I been imposed on by it in others ! ) was
never among your faults, so I can readily believe all
you say. You now see, Tom, to what dangers im-
prudence alone may subject virtue (for virtue, I am
now convinced, you love in a great degree). Prudence
is indeed the duty which we owe to ourselves ; and if
we will be so much our own enemies as to neglect it,
we are not to wonder if the world is deficient in dis-
charging their duty to us ; for when a man lays the
foundation of his own ruin, others will, I am afraid, be
too apt to build upon it. You say, however, you have
seen your errors, and will reform them. I firmly
believe you, my dear child ; and therefore, from this
moment, you shall never be reminded of them by me.
256 THE HISTORY OF
Remember them only yourself so far as for the future
to teach you the better to avoid them ; but still re-
member, for your comfort, that there is this great
difference between those faults which candor may
construe into imprudence, and those which can be
deduced from villany only. The former, perhaps, are
even more apt to subject a man to ruin ; but if he
reform, his character will, at length, be totally re-
trieved ; the world, though not immediately, will in
time be reconciled to him ; and he may reflect, not
without some mixture of pleasure, on the dangers
he hath escaped ; but villany, my boy, when once
discovered is irretrievable ; the stains which this
leaves behind, no time will wash away. The
censures of mankind will pursue the wretch, their
scorn will abash him in publick ; and if shame drives
him into retirement, he will go to it with all those
terrors with which a weary child, who is afraid of
hobgoblins, retreats from company to go to bed alone.
Here his murdered conscience will haunt him. — Re-
pose, like a false friend, will fly from him. Wherever
he turns his eyes, horror presents itself; if he looks
backward, unavailable repentance treads on his heels ;
if forward, incurable despair stares him in the face, till,
like a condemned prisoner confined in a dungeon, he
detests his present condition, and yet dreads the conse-
quence of that hour which is to relieve him from it.
Comfort yourself, I say, my child, that this is not your
case ; and rejoice with thankfulness to him who hath
suffered you to see your errors, before they have brought
on you that destruction to which a persistance in even
those errors must have led you. You have deserted
them ; and the prospect now before you is such, that
happiness seems in your own power." At these words
Jones fetched a deep sigh ; upon which, when All-
worthy remonstrated, he said, " Sir, I will conceal
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 257
nothing from you : I fear there is one consequence of
my vices I shall never be able to retrieve. O, my dear
uncle 1 I have lost a treasure." " You need say no
more," answered Allworthy ; " I will be explicit with
you ; I know what you lament ; I have seen the young
lady, and have discoursed with her concerning you.
This I must insist on, as an earnest of your sincerity
in all you have said, and of the stedfastness of your
resolution, that you obey me in one instance. To
abide intirely by the determination of the young lady,
whether it shall be in your favour or no. She hath
already suffered enough from solicitations which I hate
to think of; she shall owe no further constraint to my
family : I know her father will be as ready to torment
her now on your account as he hath formerly been on
another's ; but I am determined she shall suffer no
more confinement, no more violence, no more uneasy
hours." "O, my dear uncle! " answered Jones, "lay,
I beseech you, some command on me, in which I shall
have some merit in obedience. Believe me, sir, the
only instance in which I could disobey you would be
to give an uneasy moment to my Sophia. No, sir, if
I am so miserable to have incurred her displeasure
beyond all hope of forgiveness, that alone, with the
dieadful reflection of causing her misery, will be suf-
ficient to overpower me. To call Sophia mine is the
greatest, and now the only additional blessing which
heaven can bestow ; but it is a blessing which I must
owe to her alone." " I will not flatter you, child,"
cries Allworthy ; " I fear your case is desperate : I
never saw stronger marks of an unalterable resolution
in any person than appeared in her vehement declara-
tions against receiving your addresses ; for which, per-
haps, you can account better than myself." " Oh, sir !
I can account too well," answered Jones ; " I have
sinned against her beyond all hope of pardon ; and
258 THE HISTORY OF
guilty as I am, my guilt unfortunately appears to her
in ten times blacker than the real colours. O, my dear
uncle ! I find my follies are irretrievable ; and all your
goodness cannot save me from perdition."
A servant now acquainted them that Mr Western
was below-stairs ; for his eagerness to see Jones could
not wait till the afternoon. Upon which Jones, whose
eyes were full of tears, begged his uncle to entertain
Western a few minutes, till he a little recovered him-
self; to which the good man consented, and, having
ordered Mr Western to be shewn into a parlour, went
down to him.
Mrs Miller no sooner heard that Jones was alone
(for she had not yet seen him since his release from
prison) than she came eagerly into the room, and,
advancing towards Jones, wished him heartily joy of
his new-found uncle and his happy reconciliation ;
adding, " I wish I could give you joy on another
account, my dear child ; but anything so inexorable I
never saw."
Jones, with some appearance of surprize, asked her
what she meant. " Why then," says she, " I have
been with your young lady, and have explained all
matters to her, as they were told to me by my son
Nightingale. She can have no longer any doubt about
the letter ; of that I am certain ; for I told her my son
Nightingale was ready to take his oath, if she pleased,
that it was all his own invention, and the letter of his
inditing. I told her the very reason of sending the
letter ought to recommend you to her the more, as it
was all upon her account, and a plain proof that you
was resolved to quit all your profligacy for the future ;
that you had never been guilty of a single instance of
infidelity to her since your seeing her in town : I am
afraid I went too far there ; but Heaven forgive me !
I hope your future behaviour will be my justification.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 259
I am sure I have said all I can ; but all to no purpose.
She remains inflexible. She says, she had forgiven
many faults on account of youth ; but expressed such
detestation of the character of a libertine, that she
absolutely silenced me. I often attempted to excuse
you ; but the justness of her accusation flew in my
face. Upon my honour, she is a lovely woman, and
one of the sweetest and most sensible creatures I ever
saw. I could have almost kissed her for one ex-
pression she made use of. It was a sentiment worthy
of Seneca, or of a bishop. ' I once fancied, madam,'
said she, ' I had discovered great goodness of heart
in Mr Jones ; and for that I own I had a sincere
esteem ; but an entire profligacy of manners will
corrupt the best heart in the world ; and all which
a good-natured libertine can expect is, that we should
mix some grains of pity with our contempt and abhor-
rence.' She is an angelic creature, that is the truth
on't." " O, Mrs Miller ! " answered Jones, " can I
bear to think I have lost such an angel?" "Lost!
no," cries Mrs Miller ; " I hope you have not lost
her yet. Resolve to leave such vicious courses, and
you may yet have hopes ; nay, if she should remain
inexorable, there is another young lady, a sweet pretty
young lady, and a swinging fortune, who is absolutely
dying for love of you. I heard of it this very morning,
and I told it to Miss Western ; nay, I went a little
beyond the truth again ; for I told her you had refused
her ; but indeed I knew you would refuse her. And
here I must give you a little comfort ; when I mentioned
the young lady's name, who is no other than the pretty
widow Hunt, I thought she turned pale ; but when I
said you had refused her, I will be sworn her face was
all over scarlet in an instant ; and these were her very
words : * I will not deny but that I believe he has some
afFectiou for me.' "
26o THE HISTORY OF
Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival
of Western, who could no longer be kept out of the
room even by the authority of Allworthy himself;
though this, as we have often seen, had a wonderfiil
power over him.
Western immediately went up to Jones, crying out,
" My old friend Tom, I am glad to see thee with all
my heart ! all past must be forgotten ; I could not
intend any affront to thee, because, as Allworthy here
knows, nay, dost know it thyself, I took thee for
another person ; and where a body means no harm,
what signifies a hasty word or two ? One Christian
must forget and forgive another." " I hope, sir,"
said Jones, " I shall never forget the many obligations
I have had to you ; but as for any offence towards me,
I declare I am an utter stranger." " A't," says
Western, " then give me thy list ; a't as hearty an
honest cock as any in the kingdom. Come along
with me ; I'll carry thee to thy mistress this moment."
Here Allworthy interposed ; and the squire being
unable to prevail either with the uncle or nephew,
was, after some litigation, obliged to consent to delay
introducing Jones to Sophia till the afternoon ; at
which time Allworthy, as well in compassion to
Jones as in compliance with the eager desires of
Western, was prevailed upon to promise to attend at
the tea-table.
The conversation which now ensued was pleasant
enough ; and with which, had it happened earlier in
our history, we would have entertained our reader ;
but as we have now leisure only to attend to what is
very material, it shall suffice to say that matters being
entirely adjusted as to the afternoon visit Mr Western
again returned home.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 26 1
The history draws nearer to a conclusion.
WHEN Mr Western was departed, Jones began
to inform Mr Allworthy and Mrs Miller
that his liberty had been procured by two
noble lords, who, together with two surgeons and a
friend of Mr Nightingale's, had attended the magistrate
by whom he had been committed, and by whom, on
the surgeons' oaths, that the wounded person was out
of all manner of danger from his wound, he was dis-
charged.
One only of these lords, he said, he had ever seen
before, and that no more than once ; but the other
had greatly surprized him by asking his pardon for an
offence he had been guilty of towards him, occasioned,
he said, entirely by his ignorance who he was.
Now the reality of the case, with which Jones was
not acquainted till afterwards, was this : — The lieutenant
whom Lord Fellamar had employed, according to the
advice of Lady Bellaston, to press Jones as a vagabond
into the sea-service, when he came to report to his
lordship the event which we have before seen, spoke
very favourably of the behaviour of Mr Jones on all
accounts, and strongly assured that lord that he must
have mistaken the person, for that Jones was certainly
a gentleman ; insomuch that his lordship, who was
strictly a man of honour, and would by no means have
been guilty of an action which the world in general
would have condemned, began to be much concerned
for the advice which he had taken.
Within a day or two after this. Lord Fellamar hap-
pened to dine with the Irish peer, who, in a conversa-
tion upon the duel, acquainted his company with the
character of Fitzpatrick ; to which, indeed, he did not
262 THE HISTORY OF
do Strict justice, especially in what related to his lady.
He said she was the most innocent, the most injured
woman alive, and that from compassion alone he had
undertaken her cause. He then declared an intention
of going the next morning to Fitzpatrick's lodgings,
in order to prevail with him, if possible, to consent to
a separation from his wife, who, the peer said, was in
apprehensions for her life, if she should ever return to
be under the power of her husband. Lord Fellamar
agreed to go with him, that he might satisfy himself
more concerning Jones and the circumstances of the
duel ; for he was by no means easy concerning the
part he had acted. The moment his lordship gave a
hint of his readiness to assist in the delivery of the
lady, it was eagerly embraced by the other nobleman,
who depended much on the authority of Lord Fellamar,
as he thought it would greatly contribute to awe Fitz-
patrick into a compliance ; and perhaps he was in the
right ; for the poor Irishman no sooner saw these noble
peers had undertaken the cause of his wife than he
submitted, and articles of separation were soon drawn
up and signed between the parties.
Fitzpatrick, who had been so well satisfied by Mrs
Waters concerning the innocence of his wife with Jones
at Upton, or perhaps, from some other reasons, was now
become so indifferent to that matter, that he spoke
highly in favour of Jones to Lord Fellamar, took all
the blame upon himself, and said the other had behaved
very much like a gentleman and a man of honour ; and
upon that lord's further enquiry concerning Mr Jones,
Fitzpatrick told him he was nephew to a gentleman of
very great fashion and fortune, which was the account
he had just received from Mrs Waters after her inter-
view with Dowling.
Lord Fellamar now thought it behoved him to do
everything in his power to make satisfaction to a gentle-
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 263
man whom he had so grossly injured, and without any
consideration of rivalship (for he had now given over
all thoughts of Sophia), determined to procure Mr
Jones's liberty, being satisfied, as well from Fitzpatrick
as his surgeon, that the wound was not moital. He
therefore prevailed with the Irish peer to accompany
him to the place where Jones was confined, to whom
he behaved as we have already related.
When Allworthy returned to his lodgings, he imme-
diately carried Jones into his room, and then acquainted
him with the whole matter, as well what he had heard
from Mrs Waters as what he had discovered from
Mr Dowling.
Jones expressed great astonishment and no less con-
cern at this account, but without making any comment
or observation upon it. And now a message was
brought from Mr Blifil, desiring to know if his uncle
was at leisure that he might wait upon him. Allworthy
started and turned pale, and then in a more passionate
tone than I believe he had ever used before, bid the
servant tell Blifil he knew him not. " Consider, dear
sir," cries Jones, in a trembling voice. " I have con-
sidered," answered Allworthy, "and you yourself
shall carry my message to the villain. No one can
carry him the sentence of his own ruin so properly as
the man whose ruin he hath so villanously contrived."
" Pardon me, dear sir," said Jones ; " a moment's re-
flection will, I am sure, convince you of the contrary.
What might perhaps be but justice from another tongue,
would from mine be insult ; and to whom ? — my own
brother and your nephew. Nor did he use me so bar-
barously— indeed, that would have been more inexcus-
able than anything he hath done. Fortune may tempt
men of no very bad dispositions to injustice ; but insults
proceed only from black and rancorous minds, and
have no temptations to excuse them. Let me beseech
264 THE HISTORY OF
you, sir, to do nothing by him in the present height
of your anger. Consider, my dear uncle, I was not
myself condemned unheard." Allworthy stood silent
a moment, and then, embracing Jones, he said, with
tears gushing from his eyes, " O my child ! to what
goodness have I been so long blind ! "
Mrs Miller entering the room at that moment, after
a gentle rap which was not perceived, and seeing Jones
in the arms of his uncle, the poor woman in an agony
of joy fell upon her knees, and burst forth into the most
ecstatic thanksgivings to heaven for what had happened ;
then, running to Jones, she embraced him eagerly, cry-
ing, " My dearest friend, I wish you joy a thousand and
a thousand times of this blest day." And next Mr
Allworthy himself received the same congratulations.
To which he answered, " Indeed, indeed, Mrs Miller,
I am beyond expression happy." Some few more
raptures having passed on all sides, Mrs Miller desired
them both to walk down to dinner in the parlour,
where she said there were a very happy set of people
assembled — being indeed no other than Mr Nightingale
and his bride, and his cousin Harriet with her bride-
groom.
Allworthy excused himself from dining with the
company, saying he had ordered some little thing for
him and his nephew in his own apartment, for that they
had much private business to discourse of; but would
not resist promising the good woman that both he and
Jones would make part of her society at supper.
Mrs Miller then asked what was to be done with
Blifil ? " for indeed," says she, " I cannot be easy
while such a villain is in my house." — Allworthy
answered, " He was as uneasy as herself on the same
account." " Oh ! " cries she, " if that be the case,
leave the matter to me, I'll soon show him the outside
out of my doors, I warrant you. Here are two or
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 265
three lusty fellows below- stairs." " There will be no
need of any violence," cries Allworthy ; " if you will
carry him a message from me, he will, I am convinced,
depart of his own accord." " Will I ? " said Mrs
Miller ; " I never did anything in my life with a
better will." Here Jones interfered, and said, " He
had considered the matter better, and would, if Mr
Allworthy pleased, be himself the messenger. I
know," says he, " already enough of your pleasure, sir,
and I beg leave to acquaint him with it by my own
words. Let me beseech you, sir," added he, "to
reflect on the dreadful consequences of driving him to
violent and sudden despair. How unfit, alas ! is this
poor man to die in his present situation." This
suggestion had not the least eiFect on Mrs Miller.
She left the room, crying, "You are too good, Mr
Jones, infinitely too good to live in this world." But
it made a deeper impression on Allworthy. " My
good child," said he, "I am equally astonished at
the goodness of your heart, and the quickness of your
understanding. Heaven indeed forbid that this wretch
should be deprived of any means or time for repent-
ance ! That would be a shocking consideration indeed.
Go to him, therefore, and use your own discretion ; yet
do not flatter him with any hopes of my forgiveness ;
for I shall never forgive villany farther than my religion
obliges me, and that extends not either to our bounty
or our conversation."
Jones went up to Blifil's room, whom he found in a
situation which moved his pity, though it would have
raised a less amiable passion in many beholders. He
cast himself on his bed, where he lay abandoning him-
self to despair, and drowned in tears ; not in such tears
as flow from contrition, and wash away guilt from
minds which have been seduced or surprized into it un-
awares, against the bent of their natural dispositions, as
266 THE HISTORY OF
will sometimes happen from human frailty, even to the
good ; no, these tears were such as the frighted thief
sheds in his cart, and are indeed the effects of that
concern which the most savage natures are seldom
deficient in feeling for themselves.
It would be unpleasant and tedious to paint this
scene in full length. Let it suffice to say, that the
behaviour of Jones was kind to excess. He omitted
nothing which his invention could supply, to raise and
comfort the drooping spirits of Blifil, before he com-
municated to him the resolution of his uncle that he
must quit the house that evening. He offered to
fui'nish him with any money he wanted, assured him of
his hearty forgiveness of all he had done against him,
that he would endeavour to live with him hereafter as
a brother, and would leave nothing unattempted to
effectuate a reconciliation with his uncle.
Blifil was at first sullen and silent, balancing in his
mind whether he should yet deny all ; but, finding at
last the evidence too strong against him, he betook
himself at last to confession. He then asked pardon
of his brother in the most vehement manner, prostrated
himself on the ground, and kissed his feet ; in short he
was now as remarkably mean as he had been before
remarkably wicked.
Jones could not so far check his disdain, but that it
a little discovered itself in his countenance at this
extreme servility. He raised his brother the moment
he could from the ground, and advised him to bear his
afflictions more like a man ; repeating, at the same
time, his promises, that he would do all in his power
to lessen them ; for which Blifil, making many pro-
fessions of his unworthiness, poured forth a profusion
of thanks ; and then, he having declared he would
immediately depart to another lodging, Jones returned
to his uncle.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 267
Among other matters, Allworthy now acquainted
Jones with the discovery which he had made con-
cerning the ,^500 bank-notes. " I have," said he,
" already consulted a lawyer, who tells me, to my great
astonishment, that there is no punishment for a fraud of
this kind. Indeed, when I consider the black ingrati-
tude of this fellow toward you, I think a highwayman,
compared to him, is an innocent person."
" Good Heaven ! " says Jones, "is it possible ? — I
am shocked beyond measure at this news. I thought
there was not an honester fellow in the world.
The temptation of such a sum was too great for him to
withstand ; for smaller matters have come safe to me
through his hand. Indeed, my dear uncle, you must
suffer me to call it weakness rather than ingratitude ;
for I am convinced the poor fellow loves me, and hath
done me some kindnesses, which I can never forget ;
nay, I believe he hath repented of this very act ; for it
is not above a day or two ago, when my affairs seemed
in the most desperate situation, that he visited me in
my confinement, and offered me any money I wanted.
Consider, sir, what a temptation to a man who hath
tasted such bitter distress, it must be, to have a sum
in his possession which must put him and his family
beyond any future possiiblity of suffering the like."
" Child," cries Allworthy, " you carry this forgiving
temper too far. Such mistaken mercy is not only
weakness, but borders on injustice, and is very per-
nicious to society, as it encourages vice. The dis-
honesty of this fellow I might, perhaps, have pardoned,
but never his ingratitude. And give me leave to say,
when we suffer any temptation to atone for dishonesty
itself, we are as candid and merciful as we ought to be ;
and so far I confess I have gone ; for I have often
pitied the fate of a highwayman, when I have been on
the grand jmy ; and have more than once applied to
268 THE HISTORY OF
the judge on the behalf of such as have had any mitigat-
ing circumstances in their case ; but when dishonesty
is attended with any blacker crime, such as cruelty,
mm-der, ingratitude, or the like, compassion and forgive-
ness then become faults. I am convinced the fellow
is a villain, and he shall be punished ; at least as far as
I can punish him."
This was spoken with so stern a voice, that Jones
did not think proper to make any reply ; besides, the
hour appointed by Mr Western now drew so near, that
he had barely time left to dress himself. Here there-
fore ended the present dialogue, and Jones retired to
another room, where Partridge attended, according to
order, with his cloaths.
Partridge had scarce seen his master since the happy
discovery. The poor fellow was unable either to con-
tain or express his transports. He behaved like one
frantic, and made almost as many mistakes while he
was dressing Jones as I have seen made by Harlequin
in dressing himself on the stage.
His memory, however, was not in the least deficient.
He recollected now many omens and presages of this
happy event, some of which he had remarked at the
time, but many more he now remembered ; nor did he
omit the dreams he had dreamt the evening before his
meeting with Jones ; and concluded with saying, " I
always told your honour something boded in my mind
that you would one time or other have it in your power
to make my fortune." Jones assured him that this
boding should as certainly be verified with regard to
him as all the other omens had been to himself; which
did not a little add to all the raptures which the
poor fellow had already conceived on account of his
master.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 269
Approaching still nearer to the end.
JONES, being now completely dressed, attended his
uncle to Mr Western's. He was, indeed, one of
the finest figures ever beheld, and his person alone
would have charmed the greater part of womankind ;
but we hope it hath already appeared in this history
that Nature, when she formed him, did not totally rely,
as she sometimes doth, on this merit only, to recom-
mend her work.
Sophia, who, angry as she was, was likewise set
forth to the best advantage, for which I leave my
female readers to account, appeared so extremely
beautiful, that even Allworthy, when he saw her,
could not forbear whispering Western, that he believed
she was the finest creature in the world. To which
Western answered, in a whisper, overheard by all
present, " So much the better for Tom ; — for d — n
me if he shan't ha the tousling her." Sophia was all
over scarlet at these words, while Tom's countenance
was altogether as pale, and he was almost ready to
sink from his chair.
The tea-table was scarce removed before Western
lugged Allworthy out of the room, telling him he had
business of consequence to impart, and must speak to
him that instant in private, before he forgot it.
The lovers were now alone, and it will, I question
not, appear strange to many readers, that those who
had so much to say to one another when danger and
difficulty attended their conversation, and who seemed
so eager to rush into each other's arms when so many
bars lay in their way, now that with safety they were
at liberty to say or do whatever they pleased, should
both remain for some time silent and motionless ; inso-
270 THE HISTORY OF
much that a stranger of moderate sagacity might have
well concluded they were mutually indifferent ; but so
it was, however strange it may seem ; both sat with
their eyes cast downwards on the ground, and for some
minutes continued in perfect silence.
Mr Jones during this interval attempted once or twice
to speak, but was absolutely incapable, muttering only,
or rather sighing out, some broken words ; when Sophia
at length, partly out of pity to him, and partly to turn
the discourse from the subject which she knew well
enough he was endeavouring to open, said —
"Sure, sir, you are the most fortunate man in the
world in this discovery." " And can you really,
madam, think me so fortunate," said Jones, sighing,
" while I have incurred your displeasure ? " — " Nay,
sir," says she, " as to that you best know whether you
have deserved it." " Indeed, madam," answered he,
" you yourself are as well apprized of all my demerits.
Mrs Miller hath acquainted you with the whole truth.
O ! my Sophia, am I never to hope for forgiveness ? "
— " I think, Mr Jones," said she, " I may almost de-
pend on your own justice, and leave it to yourself to pass
sentence on your own conduct." — " Alas ! madam,"
answered he, " it is mercy, and not justice, which I
implore at your hands. Justice I know must condemn
me. — Yet not for the letter I sent to Lady Bellaston.
Of that I most solemnly declare you have had a true
account." He then insisted much on the security
given him by Nightingale of a fair pretence for breaking
off, if, contrary to their expectations, her ladyship
should have accepted his offer ; but confest that he
had been guilty of a great indiscretion to put such a
letter as that into her power, " which," said he, " I
have dearly paid for, in the effect it has upon you."
« I do not, I cannot," says she, " believe otherwise of
that letter than you would have me. My conduct, I
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 27 1
think, shews you clearly I do not believe there is much
in that. And yet, Mr Jones, have I not enough to
resent ? After what past at Upton, so soon to engage
in a new amoui- with another woman, while I fancied,
and you pretended, your heart was bleeding for me ?
Indeed, you have acted strangely. Can I believe the
passion you have profest to me to be sincere ? Or, if
I can, what happiness can I assure myself of with a
man capable of so much inconstancy ? " " O ! my
Sophia," cries he, " do not doubt the sincerity of the
purest passion that ever inflamed a human breast.
Think, most adorable creature, of my unhappy situa-
tion, of my despair. Could I, my Sophia, have flattered
myself with the most distant hopes of being ever per-
mitted to throw myself at your feet in the manner I do
now, it would not have been in the power of any other
woman to have inspired a thought which the severest
chastity could have condemned. Inconstancy to you !
0 Sophia ! if you can have goodness enough to pardon
what is past, do not let any cruel future apprehensions
shut your mercy against me. No repentance was ever
more sincere. O ! let it reconcile me to my heaven in
this dear bosom." " Sincere repentance, Mr Jones,"
answered she, " will obtain the pardon of a sinner, but
it is from one who is a perfect judge of that sincerity.
A human mind may be imposed on ; nor is there any
infallible method to prevent it. You must expect,
however, that if I can be prevailed on by your re-
pentance to pardon you, I will at least insist on the
strongest proof of its sincerity." " Name any proof in
my power," answered Jones eagerly. " Time," replied
she ; " time alone, Mr Jones, can convince me that
you are a true penitent, and have resolved to abandon
these vicious courses, which I should detest you for, if
1 imagined you capable of persevering in them." " Do
not imagine it," cries Jones. " On my knees I intreat,
272 THE HISTORY OF
I implore your confidence, a confidence which it shall
be the business of my life to deserve." " Let it then,"
said she, " be the business of some part of your life to
shew me you deserve it. I think I have been explicit
enough in assuring you, that, when I see you merit my
confidence, you will obtain it. After what is past, sir,
can you expect I should take you upon your word ? "
He replied, " Don't believe me upon my word ; I
have a better security, a pledge for my constancy,
which it is impossible to see and to doubt." "What
is that?" said Sophia, a little surprized. "I will
show you, my charming angel," cried Jones, seizing
her hand and carrying her to the glass. " There,
behold it there in that lovely figure, in that face, that
shape, those eyes, that mind which shines through
these eyes ; can the man who shall be in possession of
these be inconstant ? Impossible ! my Sophia ; they
would fix a Dorimant, a Lord Rochester. You could
not doubt it, if you could see yourself with any eyes
but your own." Sophia blushed and half smiled ; but,
forcing again her brow into a frown — " If I am to
judge," said she, " of the futui^e by the past, my image
will no more remain in your heart when I am out of
your sight, than it will in this glass when I am out of
the room." " By heaven, by all that is sacred ! " said
Jones, " it never was out of my heart. The delicacy
of your sex cannot conceive the grossness of ours, nor
how little one sort of amour has to do with the heart."
" I will never marry a man," replied Sophia, very
gravely, " who shall not learn refinement enough to
be as incapable as I am myself of making such a dis-
tinction." " I will learn it," said Jones. " I have
learnt it already. The first moment of hope that my
Sophia might be my wife taught it me at once ; and all
the rest of her sex from that moment became as little
the objects of desire to my sense as of passion to my
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 273
heart." "Well," says Sophia, "the proof of this
must be from time. Your situation, Mr Jones, is now
altered, and I assure you I have great satisfaction in the
alteration. You will now want no opportunity of being
near me, and convincing me that your mind is altered
too." " O ! my angel." cries Jones, " how shall I
thank thy goodness ! And are you so good to own
that you have a satisfaction in my prosperity ?
Believe me, believe me, madam, it is you alone have
given a relish to that prosperity, since I owe to it the
dear hope O ! my Sophia, let it not be a distant
one. — I will be all obedience to your commands. I
will not dare to press anything further than you permit
me. Yet let me intreat you to appoint a short trial.
0 ! tell me when I may expect you will be convinced
of what is most solemnly true." " When I have gone
voluntarily thus far, Mr Jones," said she, " I expect
not to be pressed. Nay, I will not." — "O! don't
look unkindly thus, my Sophia," cries he. " I do not,
1 dare not press you. — Yet permit me at least once
more to beg you would fix the period. O ! consider
the impatience of love." " A twelvemonth, per-
haps," said she. " O ! my Sophia," cries he, " you
have named an eternity." — " Perhaps it may be some-
thing sooner," says she ; " I will not be teazed. If your
passion for me be what I would have it, I think you
may now be easy." — " Easy ! Sophia, call not such
an exulting happiness as mine by so cold a name.
O ! transporting thought ! am I not assured that the
blessed day will come, when I shall call you mine ;
when fears shall be no more ; when I shall have that
dear, that vast, that exquisite, ecstatic delight of making
my Sophia happy ? " " Indeed, sir," said she,
" that day is in your own power." " O ! my dear,
my divine angel," cried he, " these words have made
me mad with joy. But I must, I will thank those
IV. s
2 74 THE HISTORY OF
dear lips which have so sweetly pronounced my bliss."
He then caught her in his arms, and kissed her with an
ardour he had never ventured before.
At this instant Western, who had stood some time
listening, burst into the room, and, with his hunting
voice and phrase, cried out, " To her, boy, to her, go
to her. That's it, little honeys, O that's it ! Well !
what, is it all over ? Hath she appointed the day, boy ?
What, shall it be to-morrow or next day ? It shan't
be put off a minute longer than next day, I am resolved."
" Let me beseech you, sir," says Jones, " don't let me
be the occasion " " Beseech mine a ," cries
Western. " I thought thou hadst been a lad of higher
mettle than to give way to a parcel of maidenish tricks.
1 tell thee 'tis all flimflam. Zoodikers ! she'd
have the wedding to-night with all her heart. Would'st
not, Sophy ? Come, confess, and be an honest girl for
once. What, art dumb ? Why dost not speak ? "
" Why should I confess, sir," says Sophia, " since it
seems you are so well acquainted with my thoughts ? "
" That's a good girl," cries he, " and dost consent
then ? " " No, indeed, sir," says Sophia, " I have
given no such consent." " And wunt not ha un
then to-morrow, nor next day ? " says Western.
" Indeed, sir," says she, " I have no such intention."
" But I can tell thee," replied he, " why hast nut ;
only because thou dost love to be disobedient, and to
plague and vex thy father." " Pray, sir," said Jones,
interfering " I tell thee thou art a puppy," cries he.
"When I vorbid her, then it was all nothing but
sighing and whining, and languishing and wi'iting ; now
I am vor thee, she is against thee. All the spirit of
contrary, that's all. She is above being guided and
governed by her father, that is the whole truth on't.
It is only to disoblige and contradict me." " What
would my papa have me do ? " cries Sophia. " What
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 275
would I ha thee do ? " says he, " why, gi' un thy hand
this moment." « Well, sir," says Sophia, " I will
obey you. — There is my hand, Mr Jones." " Well,
and will you consent to ha un to-morrow morning ? "
says Western. " I will be obedient to you, sir,"
cries she, " Why then to-morrow morning be the
day," cries he. " Why then to-morrow morning shall
be the day, papa, since you will have it so," says Sophia.
Jones then fell upon his knees, and kissed her hand in
an agony of joy, while Western began to caper and
dance about the room, presently crying out — " Where
the devil is Allworthy ? He is without now, a talking
with that d d lawyer Dowlin;_-, when he should be
minding other matters." He then sallied out in quest
of him, and very opportunely left the lovers to enjoy a
few tender minutes alone.
But he soon returned with Allworthy, saying, " If
you won't believe me, you may ask her youi'self.
Hast nut gin thy consent, Sophy, to be married to-
morrow ? " " Such are your commands, sir," cries
Sophia, "and I dare not be guilty of disobedience."
" I hope, madam," cries Allworthy, " my nephew
will merit so much goodness, and will be always as
sensible as myself of the great honour you have done
my family. An alliance with so charming and so
excellent a young lady would indeed be an honour to
the greatest in England." "Yes," cries Western,
"but if I had suffered her to stand shill I shall I,
dilly dally, you might not have had that honour yet
a while ; I was forced to use a little fatherly authority
to bring her to." " I hope not, sir," cries Allworthy,
" I hope there is not the least constraint." " Why,
there," cries Western, " you may bid her unsay all
again if you will. Dost repent heartily of thy promise,
dost not, Sophia ? " " Indeed, papa," cries she, " I
do not repent, nor do I believe I ever shall, of any
276 THE HISTORY OF
promise in favour of Mr Jones." " Then, nephew,"
cries Allworthy, " I felicitate you most heartily ; for
I think you are the happiest of men. And, madam,
you will give me leave to congratulate you on this
joyful occasion : indeed, I am convinced you have
bestowed yourself on one who will be sensible of
your great merit, and who will at least use his best
endeavours to deserve it." " His best endeavours ! "
cries Western, " that he will, I warrant un. Harkee,
Allworthy, I'll bet thee five pounds to a crown we
have a boy to-morrow nine months ; but prithee tell
me what wut ha ! Vv ut ha Burgundy, Champaigne,
or what ? for, please Jupiter, we'll make a night on't."
" Indeed, sir," said Allworthy, " you must excuse me ;
both my nephew and I were engaged before I suspected
this near approach of his happiness." — " Engaged ! "
quoth the squire, " never tell me. — I won't part with
thee to-night upon any occasion. Shalt sup here,
please the lord Harry." " You must pardon me, my
dear neighbour ! " answered Allworthy ; '* I have given
a solemn promise, and that you know I never break."
" Why, prithee, who art engaged to ? " cries the
squire. Allworthy then informed him, as likewise
of the company. " Odzookers ! " answered the
squire, " I will go with thee, and so shall Sophy !
for I won't part with thee to-night ; and it would
be barbarous to part Tom and the girl." This offer
was presently embraced by Allworthy, and Sophia
consented, having first obtained a private promise from
her father that he would not mention a syllable con-
cerning her marriage.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 277
Cl^apter tl^e last
In ivh'ich the history is concluded.
YOUNG Nightingale had been that afternoon, by
appointment, to wait on his father, who received
him much more kindly than he expected.
There likewise he met his uncle, who was returned to
town in quest of his new-married daughter.
This marriage was the luckiest incident which could
have happened to the young gentleman ; for these
brothers lived in a constant state of contention about
the government of their children, both heartily despis-
ing the method which each other took. Each of them
therefore now endeavoured, as much as he could, to
palliate the offence which his own child had com-
mitted, and to aggravate the match of the other. This
desire of triumphing over his brother, added to the
many arguments which Allworthy had used, so strongly
operated on the old gentleman that he met his son with
a smiling countenance, and actually agreed to sup with
him that evening at Mrs Miller's.
As for the other, who really loved his daughter
with the most immoderate affection, there was little dif-
ficulty in inclining him to a reconciliation. He was
no sooner informed by his nephew where his daughter
and her husband were, than he declared he would in-
stantly go to her. And when he arrived there he
scarce suffered her to fall upon her knees before he took
her up, and embraced her with a tenderness which
affected all who saw him ; and in less than a quarter
of an hour was as well reconciled to both her and
her husband as if he had himself joined their hands.
In this situation were affairs when Mr Allworthy and
his company arrived to complete the happiness of Mrs
Miller, who no sooner saw Sophia than she guessed
278 THE HISTORY OF
everything that had happened ; and so great was her
friendship to Jones, that it added not a few transports
to those she felt on the happiness of her own daughter.
There have not, I believe, been many instances of
a number of people met together, where every one
was so perfectly happy as in this company. Amongst
whom the father of young Nightingale enjoyed the
least perfect content ; for, notwithstanding his affection
for his son, notwithstanding the authority and the argu-
ments of Allworthy, together with the other motive
mentioned before, he could not so entirely be satisfied
with his son's choice ; and, perhaps, the presence of
Sophia herself tended a little to aggravate and heighten
his concern, as a thought now and then suggested itself
that his son might ha^ e had that lady, or some other
such. Not that any of the charms which adorned
either the person or mind of Sophia created the uneasi-
ness ; it was the contents of her father's coffers which
set his heart a longing. These were the charms which
he could net bear to think his son had sacrificed to the
daughter of Mrs Miller.
The brides were both very pretty women ; but so
totally were they eclipsed by the beauty of Sophia,
that, had they not been two of the best-tempered girls
in the world, it would have raised some envy in their
breasts ; for neither of their husbands could long keep
his eyes from Sophia, who sat at the table Hke a queen
receiving homage, or, rather, like a superior being re-
ceiving adoration from all around her. But it was an
adoration which they gave, not which she exacted ;
for she was as much distinguished by her modesty and
affability as by all her other perfections.
The evening was spent in much true mirth. All
were happy, but those the most who had been most
unhappy before. Their former sufferings and fears
gave such a relish to their felicity as even love and
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 279
fortune, in their fullest flow, could not have given
without the advantage of such a comparison. Yet, as
great joy, especially after a sudden change and revolu-
tion of circumstances, is apt to be silent, and dwells
rather in the heart than on the tongue, Jones and
Sophia appeared the least merry of the whole com-
pany ; which Western observed with great impatience,
often crying out to them, " Why dost not talk, boy ?
Why dost look so grave ? Hast lost thy tongue, girl ?
Drink another glass of wine ; sha't drink another
glass." And, the more to enliven her, he would
sometimes sing a merry song, which bore some relation
to matrimony and the loss of a maidenhead. Nay,
he would have proceeded so far on that topic as to
have driven her out of the room, if Mr Allwoithy
had not checkt him, sometimes by looks, and once or
twice by a " Fie ! Mr Western ! " He began, indeed,
once to debate the matter, and assert his right to talk
to his own daughter as he thought fit ; but, as nobody
seconded him, he was soon reduced to order.
Notwithstanding this little restraint, he was so
pleased with the chearfulness and good-humour of the
company, that he insisted on their meeting the next
day at his lodgings. They all did so ; and the lovely
Sophia, who was now in private become a bride too,
officiated as the mistress of the ceremonies, or, in the
polite phrase, did the honours of the table. She had
that morning given her hand to Jones, in the chapel at
Doctors'-Commons, where Mr AUworthy, Mr Western,
and Mrs Miller, were the only persons present.
Sophia had earnestly desired her father that no
others of the company, who were that day to dine
with him, should be acquainted with her marriage.
The same secrecy was enjoined to Mrs Miller, and
Jones undertook for AUworthy. This somewhat
reconciled the delicacy of Sophia to the public enter-
2 8o THE HISTORY OF
tainment which, in compliance with her father's will,
she was obliged to go to, greatly against her own
inclinations. In confidence of this secrecy she went
through the day pretty well, till the squire, who was
now advanced into the second bottle, could contain his
joy no longer, but, filling out a bumper, drank a health
to the bride. The health was immediately pledged by
all present, to the great confusion of our poor blushing
Sophia, and the great concern of Jones upon her
account. To say truth, there was not a person pre-
sent made wiser by this discovery ; for Mrs Miller had
whispered it to her daughter, her daughter to her hus-
band, her husband to his sister, and she to all the rest.
Sophia now took the first opportunity of withdraw-
ing with the ladies, and the squire sat in to his cups, in
which he was, by degrees, deserted by all the company
except the uncle of young Nightingale, who loved his
bottle as w^ell as Western himself. These two, there-
fore, sat stoutly to it during the whole evening, and long
after that happy hour which had surrendered the charm-
ing Sophia to the eager arms of her enraptured Jones.
Thus, reader, we have at length brought our history
to a conclusion, in which, to our great pleasure, though
contrary, perhaps, to thy expectation, Mr Jones appears
to be the happiest of all humankind ; for what happi-
ness this world affords equal to the possession of such
a woman as Sophia, 1 sincerely own I have never yet
discovered.
As to the other persons who have made any con-
siderable figure in this history, as some may desire to
know a little more concerning them, we will proceed,
in as few words as possible, to satisfy their curiosity.
Allworthy hath never yet been prevailed upon to
see Blifil, but he hath yielded to the importunity of
Jones, backed by Sophia, to settle ^200 a-year upon
him ; to which Jones hath privately added a third.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 28 1
Upon this income he lives in one of the northern
counties, about 200 miles distant from London, and
lays up ^200 a-year out of it, in order to purchase
a seat in the next parliament from a neighbouring
borough, which he has bargained for with an attorney
there. He is also lately turned Methodist, in hopes of
marrying a very rich widow of that sect, whose estate
lies in that part of the kingdom.
Square died soon after he writ the before-mentioned
letter ; and as to Thwackum, he continues at his vicar-
age. He hath made many fruitless attempts to regain
the confidence of Allworthy, or to ingratiate himself
with Jones, both of whom he flatters to their faces, and
abuses behind their backs. But in his stead, Mr All-
worthy hath lately taken Mr Abraham Adams into his
house, of whom Sophia is grown immoderately fond,
and declares he shall have the tuition of her children.
Mrs Fitzpatrick is separated from her husband, and
retains the little remains of her fortune. She lives in
reputation at the polite end of the town, and is so good
an economist, that she spends three times the income of
her fortune, without running in debt. She maintains a
perfect intimacy with the lady of the Irish peer ; and
in acts of friendship to her repays all the obligations
she owes to her husband.
Mrs Western was soon reconciled to her niece
Sophia, and hath spent two months together with her
in the country. Lady Bellaston made the latter a
formal visit at her return to town, where she behaved to
Jones as to a perfect stranger, and, with great civility,
wished him joy on his marriage.
Mr Nightingale hath purchased an estate for his son
in the neighbourhood of Jones, where the young gentle-
man, his lady, Mrs Miller, and her little daughter
reside, and the most agreeable intercourse subsists be-
tween the two families.
282 THE HISTORY OF
As to those of lower account, Mrs Waters returned
into the country, had a pension of s£6o a-year settled
upon her by Mr AUwoithy, and is married to Parson
Supple, on whom, at the instance of Sophia, Western
hath bestowed a considerable living.
Black George, hearing the discovery that had been
made, ran away, and was never since heard of; and
Jones bestowed the money on his family, but not in
equal proportions, for Molly had much the greatest share.
As for Partridge, Jones hath settled ^50 a-year
on him ; and he hath again set up a school, in which
he meets with much better encouragement than formerly,
and there is now a treaty of marriage on foot be-
tween him and Miss Molly Seagrim, which, through
the mediation of Sophia, is likely to take effect.
We now return to take leave of Mr Jones and
Sophia, who, within two days after their marriage,
attended Mr Western and Mr Allworthy into the
country. Western hath resigned his family seat, and
the greater part of his estate, to his son-in-law, and
hath retired to a lesser house of his in another part of
the country, which is better for hunting. Indeed, he
is often as a visitant with Mr Jones, who, as well as
his daughter, hath an infinite delight in doing every-
thing in their power to please him. And this desire
of theirs is attended with such success, that the old
gentleman declares he was never happy in his life till
now. He hath here a parloui' and ante-chamber to
himself, where he gets drunk with whom he pleases :
and his daughter is still as ready as formerly to play to
him whenever he desires it ; for Jones hath assured her
that, as, next to pleasing her, one of his highest satis-
factions is to contribute to the happiness of the old
man ; so, the great duty which she expresses and per-
forms to her father, renders her almost equally dear to
him with the love which she bestows on himself.
TOM JONES, A FOUNDLING. 2^3
Sophia hath already produced him two fine childien,
a boy and a girl, of whom the old gentleman is so fond,
that he spends much of his time in the nursery, where
he declares the tattling of his little grand-daughter, who
is above a year and a half old, is sweeter music than the
finest cry of dogs in England.
AUworthy was likewise greatly liberal to Jones on
the marriage, and hath omitted no instance of shewing
his affection to him and his lady, who love him as a
father. Whatever in the natiu'e of Jones had a ten-
dency to vice, has been corrected by continual conver-
sation with this good man, and by his union with the
lovely and virtuous Sophia. He hath also, by reflection
on his past follies, acquired a discretion and prudence
very uncommon in one of his lively parts.
To conclude, as there are not to be found a worthier
man and woman, than this fond couple, so neither can
any be imagined more happy. They preserve the
purest and tenderest affection for each other, an affec-
tion daily encreased and confirmed by mutual endear-
ments and mutual esteem. Nor is their conduct
towards their relations and friends less amiable than
towards one another. And such is their condescen-
sion, their indulgence, and their beneficence to those
below them, that there is not a neighbour, a tenant,
or a servant, who doth not most gratefully bless the
day when Mr Jones was married to his Sophia.
EALLANTVN'E PRESS : EDIXBURGH AND LONDON
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
AA 000 750 189 3
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11